


packnapped

by shuckingwolves



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, derek and boyd are babes, jackson is the worst kidnapper to ever kidnap, scott's pack verse peter's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuckingwolves/pseuds/shuckingwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Just get in the car.” Jackson growled, allowing his fangs to elongate. </p><p>Stiles squinted even more.</p><p>“Why?” He asked, suspicious.</p><p>“Why do you think, moron? We’re kidnapping you.”</p><p>Stiles blinked. Twice. Then, he proceeded to look around himself, as if to indicate the very large amount of space between him and Jackson and the fact he was still in his own bedroom. Jackson growled again.</p><p>“Well, you’re not doing a very good job.” Stiles commented.</p><p>Even with his human hearing, Stiles could hear Boyd’s chuckle from the car. The window was open, allowing the sound of Boyd’s honest amusement to ring through. </p><p>“Sup Boyd.” He called.</p><p>He thought he saw the other teen wave an arm from the car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Packnapped

**Author's Note:**

> In this, Jackson is the worst kidnapper to ever kidnap. Derek and Boyd are babes.  
> Also, huge apology for having 3 fics on the go never a good idea for updating (I know the agony of waiting for a new chapter) but I will try my best. I thought this fic was gathering metaphorical cobwebs so ta dah. 
> 
> BTW this is meant to be a mix of funny and serious so idk how it will turn out (reassuring, I know) ;).

Peter glanced around his pack. Derek, Cora, Jackson, Boyd, Erica. Only Isaac, Scott and Stiles remained stubbornly in their own pack. Peter had to change that. Allison refused to be involved, seeing as she was a hunter and all. They needed Scott, everybody knew that. Lately, however, Scott and his ‘pack’ had been annoying them. They found the villains and threat first, they were unbelievably lucky with carrying through on eliminating that threat. Peter knew they had no idea what they were doing. So he put it was down to luck. 

“I have a plan.”

From his perch on the stairs, Derek raised his eyebrows with an unimpressed expression. Erica rolled her eyes. Jackson remained where he was, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and that constant smirk on his face. It was a shame that red-head of his refused to be involved with packs. She didn’t want to pick a side. But she sure would have been helpful in putting Jackson in his place. Cora stood on the step at the bottom of the stairs, ignoring Derek. They’d argued this morning about Derek eating the last of the cereal. He did eat like a wolf, it had to be said. As for Boyd, he maintained his usual silence, watching but not commenting. When he did, you knew you were in trouble. But Peter watched scenes like this too, he observed every slight clench of the jaw, heard every heartbeat, noticed every emotion, was aware of the pros and cons of every situation.

Behind him, was a wipe board. He waved a hand vaguely towards it. 

“Jackson. Your girlfriend is good at art. You draw Scott for me.”

Jackson scoffed.

“Why would I draw McCall?”

Peter glared at him, red eyes glowing. 

“Do it, draw McCall now.”

Jackson muttered something about ‘how weird this pack was’ but complied. Erica tilted her head at the mess of squiggles, which represented Scott’s hair.

“Cute.” She mused.

“Oh, almost forgot.” Jackson said, adding two very large, brown eyes.

“He is such a puppy.” She agreed, grinning.

“Enough.” Peter said. He turned back to Jackson. “Draw the other two.”

He didn’t have to say who they were, they all knew. Nobody said anything as Jackson drew Isaac and then Stiles. 

“Now, who’s the weak link here?” Peter asked, his voice purring and venomous.

“Stiles.” 

Jackson, Erica and Cora all chorused the answer, with dead pan expressions and monotone voices. Derek and Boyd didn’t say anything. Peter squinted suspiciously at them, his eyes quizzing them from a distance. Derek half shrugged, glaring in defence.

“He’s intelligent. He researches. He might not always be the one to fight the threat, but he understands it. Sometimes even finds it.”

Peter nodded, accepting that. He turned to Boyd, who shrugged as well, albeit it slightly more nonchalantly than defensively. 

“He’s got a bat.”

Peter frowned, his lips tightly pursed as he nodded at that as well. Erica laughed.

“We all know we need to be put Scott in line. Now, how long has he known Stilinski?”

“No brainer.” Jackson nodded along, agreeing. “Wait, we’re not going to hurt him though?”

Peter shook his head, knowing Scott would hate them for that. Erica tilted her head in consideration.

“So, what? We’re inviting him round to watch batman?”

Peter smirked.

“Not exactly.”

*

Boyd sat in the car, drumming his hands on his knees. Jackson gave him a glare. Boyd didn’t care. He didn’t like Jackson all that much, despite him being in their pack. Jackson would always be Jackson. The same guy who had ignored him in school for years.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Jackson said.

Boyd shook his head, dismissing that information as reassurance. He hoped Jackson would mess this one up. 

“This really isn’t cool.” He told him, eyebrows raised, looking pointedly at him.

Jackson shrugged, like this wasn’t his fault, like he wasn’t going to be a douchebag and enjoy it. But Boyd knew that his next words were simply a scapegoat, an excuse. 

“Alpha’s orders.” 

*

Stiles was lounging on his bed, belly down, propped up on his elbows with his feet crossed and his nose in a book. Jackson rolled his eyes. Did the kid ever not read? He crept in through the window, like they had planned. Unfortunately, they had not planned for the bat to be right by said window. It toppled and hit the floor, rolling to the bed, which it hit and came to a halt. It was so slow that Jackson felt it was almost like watching a game of snooker, not knowing whether the right ball would go in the socket, or hit all the others in the wrong direction. Stiles glanced up, frowning in confusion. Jackson opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Stiles quickly glanced between the bat, the window and Jackson, then again, before his eyes widened with realisation. He scrambled to reach the bat just as Jackson unfroze, doing the same. Stiles got there first. He pointed the bat at Jackson, in a hopefully threatening way. Or at least defensive. 

“What the hell dude? Why are you waltzing in through my window?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t waltz, Stilinski.” His words were quick, almost deft.

Stiles pointed his bat closer at Jackson again, almost shaking it at him as if to reiterate his point. 

“Besides, everyone walks in through the window.”

“Derek and Scott. That’s your ‘everyone’?”

“You walk through McCall’s window.”

Stiles shook his head, dismissing the argument. 

“Why are you here, Jackson?”

Jackson hesitated, a little uncertain with how to phrase his intention of kidnapping, considering such a tired tone from Stiles. 

“Do you want to walk to the car with me?”

Stiles squinted, frowning and staring at Jackson as though Jackson had lost his mind. 

“Sorry, at what point in time did we enter a black and white film based on a script for lovers in the 1960s?”

“Just get in the car.” Jackson growled, allowing his fangs to elongate. 

Stiles squinted even more.

“Why?” He asked, suspicious.

“Why do you think, moron? We’re kidnapping you.”

Stiles blinked. Twice. Then, he proceeded to look around himself, as if to indicate the very large amount of space between him and Jackson and the fact he was still in his own bedroom. Jackson growled again.

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job.” Stiles commented.

Even with his human hearing, Stiles could hear Boyd’s chuckle from the car. The window was open, allowing the sound of Boyd’s honest amusement to ring through. 

“Sup Boyd.” He called.

He thought he saw the other teen wave an arm from the car. 

“Stiles that’s enough.” Jackson hissed. “Just. Get. In. The. Car.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows appraisingly.

“You’re not a bossy alpha yet.” He reprimanded.

At that latest remark, Jackson ran at Stiles, almost rugby tackling him before lifting him onto his shoulders.

“Yo, put me down, man!” 

Jackson didn’t reply, he only leapt down to the ground from the window, causing Stiles to bump his head against Jackson’s shoulder. Stiles sighed.

“It was the alpha remark, wasn’t it? Still got that whole powerful thing going on, huh?”

“So I don’t end up in your situation, yes.”

Stiles scrunched his face up at that, frowning. 

“I suppose that’s a fair point. Touché.”

Jackson rolled his eyes as he reached the car, using one hand to pull the boot of the car open. Stiles started squirming.

“Okay, I get that up to here has been very funny, ha-ha, good one. But let’s not take this too far, yeah? Banter is only banter if the other person  
thinks so and to state, for the record, I don’t think so.”

Jackson didn’t waver from his steps towards the boot, the intent to kidnap Stiles suddenly seeming a whole lot more real to Stiles than it had been a few minutes ago, lazing on his bed.

“Oh yeah, real classy. Shove the human in the Porsche trunk. I see you haven’t lost your class, Jackson.”

Jackson continued his strong grip on Stiles and shoved him in the boot, closing the door and hopping in the passenger side himself. He sighed in annoyance as Boyd started the car.

“You could have been a bit less…”

Jackson raised his eyes.

“You.” Boyd finished.

“He could’ve been a bit less him.” Jackson muttered darkly.

Boyd chuckled at that, steering them right and past the Beacon Hills High. The sun was beating down on the car. Jackson wound the windows of the Porsche down, dropping his sunglasses into his eyes and leaning back into his chair. 

“It could’ve been anyone. Lahey. McCall. But it had to be Stilinski. He’s the one person who’s even more annoying than McCall.”

Boyd chuckled. It was rare to hear so much humour from the guy. Jackson gave him a suspicious sideways glance. After a moment of silence, Boyd glanced sideways at Jackson, in return.

“Still, you didn’t have to tie him up.”

Jackson frowned.

“I didn’t.” He said defensively, although his tone was tinged with confusion.

Boyd chuckled again at that.

“You’re kidding, right?”

A brief look of annoyance flitted across Jackson’s face.

“Look, he’s not getting out anyway. Stiles will be Stiles. He’ll probably talk himself hoarse before realising.”

Boyd raised a pair of very judgemental eyebrows.

“I still think Derek and I were right. Peter’s plan is stupid.”

“It’s Stilinski we’re talking about. What training could he possibly have against-”

He stopped short with his sentence, hearing the confirming scrabbling from behind, staring at Boyd with horror. At the same time, they both spoke the answer.

“He’s the Sheriff’s son.”

Jackson twisted in his seat, to look at Stiles, who was busy clambering into the back seat.

“Shit.” He swore.

“Oh, hey, Jackson.” Stiles smiled breezily, knowing it would get on the other boy’s nerves.

He glanced around the car, the leather seats and smooth upholstery. 

“Bitching about me I see. That’s the way they do it in the movies. Top class.” Stiles muttered.

Jackson noticed him eyeing the child lock with consideration. He suddenly realised how completely unprepared he was for kidnapping Stiles Stilinski. The kid could have had all sorts of training. Obviously fighting wouldn’t be an option for him, they were werewolves after all, but escaping could be highly possible. Peter would kill them. No, worse than that, he would humiliate them. Stiles’s voice brought Jackson out of his horrified thoughts.

“Btw you are the worst kidnapper to ever kidnap. Ever. Seriously, you suck at it.” Stiles informed him.

Jackson’s lips thinned in anger, he turned back to the front, silently fuming. Boyd laughed. He actually laughed. Jackson couldn’t believe it. Stiles beamed at Boyd, who beamed back from the side mirror view. 

“You hungry, Stiles?” Boyd asked.

Stiles followed his gaze to the McDonalds drive thru sign across the way.

“Hell yeah.” Stiles agreed.

Jackson groaned, dropping his head in his hand, which was propped up against the window with one elbow. 

“Don’t get food in my Porsche.”

“Fine. We’ll eat it when we get there. But we’ll get it now.” Boyd announced.

Stiles was nodding along absentmindedly in the back, which partly scared Jackson because surely their captive shouldn’t feel so laid back? Now they were getting him McDonalds! 

“So, uh, where exactly is ‘there’?” Stiles asked.

“Classified.” Boyd grinned.

“Is it far?” Stiles asked.

Boyd nodded.

“Alright then.” Stiles accepted. 

With that, he leant his head back on the leather seat and closed his eyes. He was going to need these forty winks. Despite trying to maintain his usual cool, calm and collected appearance, which may or may not exist, he was slightly nervous. If Peter had ordered for him to be kidnapped, that was never good. 

*

They stopped next to a grand country house, which looked like it would presumably be used for summer. Perfect for these warm august days. Stiles yawned, as he heard Boyd cut the engine, the sound almost distant. He blinked his eyes open lazily. They widened into curious brown circles. 

“Get out.” Jackson ordered, getting out himself.

Silently, Boyd did the same, taking the McDonalds with him. He carried all seven meals in his big, burly arms. Stiles snorted before pushing the door open with a kick and scrambling out himself. He placed both hands on his hips, stretching out his back, enjoying the sunshine on his face when he was abruptly, and rudely he might add, shoved into the car window. His face smushed against the glass as Jackson tied his hands together, with rope, behind his back.

“Beautifully done. You’re improving your kidnapping skills.” Stiles praised him.

Jackson rolled his eyes, placing a hand on Stiles’s shoulder and spinning him back round to face him. From somewhere inside, Jackson heard Erica laugh loudly, saying ‘Stilinski’s arrived’. Jackson ignored her, knowing she was trying to irritate him, she could probably sense his annoyed mood already. Stiles, of course, was oblivious due to his human hearing. Thank God. He would have been unbearable had he had werewolf sense to pick up on Jackson’s irritation.

As it was, he followed them up the wooden steps, two marble pillars on either side of them. Jackson unlocked the door. Stiles had a sense of desperation and panic. This would be the last definite chance of escaping. He glanced around, suddenly alert, his head turning left and then right. Boyd could sense the sudden change in mood, knew the other werewolves would too. He placed a reassuring hand on the curve in Stiles’s neck. Stiles stilled, knowing that Boyd wouldn’t let anything happen to him. None of really would, not anything that bad. He took a deep breath and followed Jackson inside. Boyd closed the door behind them, Jackson locking it due to the amount of food Boyd was attempting to carry. He was surprised to note that the flooring and the walls were all a grey-white marble inside. That was about all he had time to notice.

“Food!” Erica shouted.

Within seconds, she was running up to Boyd, kissing him on the cheek briefly, whilst snatching up a McDonalds meal. The rest of the wolves followed soon after that. Cora and Derek squabbled over which meal was theirs, Cora insisting that she should have extra chips because Derek ate most of the cereal that morning. From the throng of growling, snarling wolves, Jackson raised a hand, which was clutching a McDonalds burger meal. 

“No, I dibs this one. Get your own, Cora.”

“Derek took mine.” Was the answering snarl. 

Stiles stood a little way back, watching the wolves fight over their meals. He was a little unsure, dithering on the side lines. He had a half smile on his face, watching them all. It was quite amusing but he’d better leave now before anybody noticed. He turned to walk in the opposite direction but a hand clamped down on his shoulder, with surprising force.

“Leaving so soon, Stiles?” A dangerous voice whispered, dripping with subtext.

Stiles glared at Peter in response. The atmosphere in the room was suddenly a lot tenser, every werewolf was still, silent. Peter appraised him, taking the glare as if Stiles had spoken a sarcastic line right back at him. Which, he might as well have done, he supposed. Peter kept his hand on his shoulder, steering him into a purple-pink modern arm chair.

“Sit.” He ordered.

He shoved Stiles into the seat anyway, so the order was more an authority thing. Stiles rolled his eyes. From across the room, he caught Derek’s eyes watching him, a warning was there, lurking in those green-brown eyes. He frowned, turning his attention back to Peter, who was pacing back and forth in front of him. Why would Derek be warning him? He knew what Boyd and Jackson had done but he wasn’t being kidnapped.

“I’m going to explain why you’re here. Now, this isn’t to be taken personally-”

“What do you want me to know then? Pinky promise I won’t tell him it’s your information, we can kill the creature and then just all go about our daily lives.” Stiles sighed.

Peter frowned. “Stiles, I-”

“Werewolves are so freaking secretive, you know that? You could’ve called. I’m sure Scott doesn’t check my caller ID. Actually, he might but whatever-”

“Stiles, this isn’t about passing on information discretely.” Cora said quietly.

“Then what the hell is it-” Stiles paused, licking his dry lips.

His brain caught up with his mouth. He stopped the tumble of words.

“Oh.” It was all Stiles could say, which was quite a feat for him. 

He glanced around at the hard, impassive faces of the werewolves, one or two sympathetic, two grinning, or smirking it was difficult to tell.

“Ohh.” He repeated, eyes wide, mouth gaping.

They waited and, inevitably, it came.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” 

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“It’s difficult to tell, you always have this smirk on your face.” Stiles said, motioning to his own as if for empthasis. 

He shook his head.

“Anyway, that’s not the point. This is so not happening. Uh-uh. Not today, buddy.” 

With that decisive comment, he stood to his feet, only for Peter to push him back down in the chair again. Peter sighed, running a hand down his face in a sign of stress or annoyance. It was difficult to tell.

“Look, don’t be so emotional about it. It’s only a few days then-”

But Stiles didn’t find out what would happen then because he was, in Derek’s mind, acting like a cat would before they pounced. He wriggled backwards in his chair whilst Peter was speaking. Derek narrowed his eyes, knowing he should probably alert someone but not wanting to. Stiles dived straight in-between the gap in Peter’s legs sliding on the marble floor before getting to his feet. He glanced around, looking for somewhere to run.

“Oh for crying out loud.” Peter muttered.

Erica was leant against Boyd, the wolves had stayed silent and out of the conversation so far. Peter and Stiles had needed to have that much alone. But now…now she could sense Boyd stiffening, arms tensing around her and she knew what he was thinking. Peter would run after him. Better to be someone who wouldn’t hurt him. She knew Peter would be suspicious of Derek or Boyd but her…that he wouldn’t. Not if she fooled him right. And didn’t she always fool the boys? She snarled, her red lipstick exposing her teeth, roaring to let Peter know she had this one in the bag. She ran after Stiles, upstairs, through some marble corridors and BAM. She crashed into his side, pinning him against the wall. 

“You got him, Erica?” Peter yelled.

Erica paused, her breathing panting in Stiles’s ear, just like he knew he was. She had knocked the wind out of him. He struggled to move but she tightened her grip. Her voice was so quiet in his ear that he wondered if he’d heard right at all.

“Take it easy, batman. There’s no robin out here.”

Which struck him as ironic, because hadn’t he always wanted to be batman instead of robin? Now? Not so much. 

“Yeah. We’re good.” She shouted back to Peter.

She lessened her vice grip on his arms, pulling him with her down the stairs. When they reached the open lounge area again, Stiles tried not to show the confusion on his face. Peter might be suspicious. He wasn’t entirely sure what Erica was up to but she hadn’t killed him so that was a plus, right? He also tried, and failed, to stop his ears burning. He felt a little awkward. She sat him down on the settee in front of the TV, with a rough push, and flounced over to where Boyd was. He put his arms around her, like a strong, secure shield from the world. She leant back, resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Like I said before, Stiles, don’t take this personally-”

“But Scott’s annoying you so you had the genius idea of kidnapping his best friend.” Stiles rolled his head. “I got it.”

An amused smirk crossed Peter’s lips.

“Yes, well done, Stiles. There’s a little more to it than that, but you have the just. I hope the journey was ok?” He grinned.

“Peachy.” Stiles sassed right back.

Peter chuckled and walked away, seemingly done with the conversation. Stiles let out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. The werewolves drifted around, talking in low voices, trying to be inconspicuous. And failing miserably one might add. Stiles sighed dramatically, which earned him a snort from Derek’s direction, and reached for the TV remote. He flicked over to Vampire Diaries, just to annoy the current company he was with. It earned him a few hisses but he simply smirked. Boyd flopped down next to him, Erica under one arm, three meals in his hand. He passed one to Stiles, who nodded his thanks and tucked in. Derek stood by the window, brooding in silence. Occasionally, he would glance over at Stiles, which Stiles didn’t miss either. He was seriously considering telling Derek that it was okay, he hadn’t sprouted two heads yet. Jackson walked upstairs, a moment later they could hear him on the phone to Lydia. Cora settled in on the other side of Stiles, on the settee. She gave him a brief smile before ignoring him altogether in favour for her food. Stiles didn’t blame her. That was what he’d decided to do from here on in.


	2. The game is on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles being Stiles decides escaping Peter's crazy pack is probably more beneficial for everyone anyways, if he can figure out how. Also, Lydia enters the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like writing this fic :) Thank you for such a crazy good response-1400+ views in one day? That's awesome, thank you :)- here's the second chapter. Fair warning, I use numerous references to other books/shows (reign, mazerunner etc). Whoops. How did they get in there?
> 
> I'm a little nervous about posting this chapter actually, feedback would be really helpful for direction of the next chapter :)

“What took you so long getting him?”

Jackson shrugged defensively. It was Boyd who answered, all knowingly.

“He had a bat.”

Derek snorted from the steps where he watched the exchange between the two betas and Peter, their alpha. He sighed, standing to his feet and walking upstairs. Stilinski had fallen asleep on the settee, around midnight, and Derek had been the one to carry him upstairs. He still remembered the feeling of carrying such a light body, the sense of protecting something fragile and not knowing why that feeling coursed through his veins. He guessed…Stiles was Stiles. The same gawky teen he’d met in the woods, searching for his best friend’s inhaler. And yet, Derek saw a fire inside Stiles now, a spark of defiance. He wanted to protect that too. Plus, the peacefulness on Stiles’s face had been rare and made Derek want to feel that way one day too. Instead of the usual nightmares and terrifying dreams resurfacing.  
He raised his hand to knock on the door but Erica dashed towards it from the other side of the corridor, pushing it open, much to Derek’s annoyance.

“Day one. Rise and shine, greenie.” She grinned at Stiles, who merely blinked up at her with sleepy eyes.

Derek frowned at her.

“I heard it somewhere, in a book, maybe?” She thought.

“Not that.” Derek snapped. “You didn’t knock.”

From his bed, Stiles snorted. Derek glared at him but Stiles continued to grin from his world of comfy, washed duvets and pillows. Derek looked his usual annoyed self but Stiles knew inside the big bad wolf was grinning too. Then, he remembered his vow of silence to himself yesterday and was glad he hadn’t opened his mouth. He stopped grinning.

“What? What’s wrong?” Derek asked, instantly alert.

Erica smirked, arms crossed.

“Derek, it’s us.”

Derek frowned, staring at Stiles but the teenager just rolled over onto his other side, giving his back them, his long, dark hair falling onto his pillow.

“Breakfast is downstairs when you want it.” Erica called in a sing song voice.

For at least another minute, Derek stared at Stiles in confusion. When Stiles didn’t turn over and start laughing and chatting about how he’d pranked them now, Derek took the silence as his queue to leave.

*

“He’s not saying a word. He hasn’t all day.”

“He’s not ill, is he?” That last was from Jackson.

“He’s so silent. It’s not right.”

“Long may it reign.” This last was from Cora.

Stiles opened the door to the lounge. He had successfully ignored them all during breakfast, munching on his bran flakes in silence. The lack of Adderall was making it somewhat difficult but he’d manage. He was here for lunch now. Sandwiches had been made and he was fully prepared to eat them. He grabbed a plate, sitting down in the chair he’d been wanting to escape from just yesterday. They all stared at him. He studiously ignored them. They began to chat among themselves, like he expected. He’d hoped, if he was just quiet enough…he stood to his feet and put his plate on the coffee table.

He walked out of the room, deciding the nonchalant approach was better than the edgy one. And Eureka, he was home free to the back door. Unfortunately, there weren’t any convenient woods or trees to hide behind. Open field. Damn. He decided to skirt around the edge, sticking close to the hedges. The sun beat down on his neck and he tried to keep his heartbeat steady, no doubt the wolves could still hear it from here. He managed to get one field over when he heard footsteps behind him. Sighing with annoyance, he turned around.

“Look, Derek, I-”

He cut his own sentence up, leaving the fragments of it trailing in the air around him. Peter stood in front of him, a smirk on his face, head tilted in consideration, arms crossed. The silence was absolute. They stared at each other, squaring the other’s level gaze, for what seemed like an age. The sound of Derek’s feet crashing through the undergrowth, his breath panting, broke the silence. Peter seemingly snapped himself out of it, all dangerous aura gone.

“Ah, dear nephew. On time as always.”

“He’s fast.” Derek growled.

“He wasn’t even running.” Peter repeated dryly.

“Alright, well he’s intelligent. Like I told you.”

“He’s also very much here.” Stiles pointed out, raising his eyebrows demandingly.

Peter glanced at him, as if noticing him for the first time.

“That’s a point. You should head back.”

Stiles was infuriated. That was not what he meant and Peter knew it! His hands curled up into fists, his blood boiling, the sun not helping matters as it shone down on them.

“I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK!” He shouted, his whole anger and annoyance at how stupid this plan of theirs was entering every syllable.

Peter merely seemed bored as he slashed a clawed hand out to the raging teen’s side, cutting into Stiles’s skin. Blood stained his shirt red. He gasped, a little surprised as pain shot through his side, and clutched the wound with his pale hand, glaring at Peter.

“Well, with that untimely injury, I guess you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.” Peter explained.

Stiles was about to launch himself at Peter, alpha or not, but Derek grabbed his wrist and hauled him back to the house, up the beaten track route this time. They didn’t say anything but during the silence, both their breaths were fuming. They reached the front of the house again and Stiles started to struggle against Derek’s hold. This was stupid! He just wanted to get back to video games, Scott and Isaac puppy piles and lazing about in the summer. Derek tightened his grip on Stiles’s wrist.

“Stiles!” He growled. “You’re making yourself bleed more. Stop it.”

“Oh, wow, I’m sorry. This is my fault isn’t it?”

Derek remained in his broody silence until they reached the house, unlocking the door and stepping inside, tugging Stiles after him. Cora was waiting, concern on her face. She locked the door behind them as Derek steered them towards the kitchen, seating Stiles on the isle seat. One of those high up, posh ones, which in any other circumstance Stiles would have loved to swivel on.

“What happened?” She hissed.

“He’s unreasonable.” Derek snarled.

Stiles glared at him from across the table. Cora glanced at Stiles’s side, giving it a quick inspection within just a few seconds on looking.

“Jesus.” She muttered.

“He forgets who’s human and who’s not. That’s not going to heal magically.” Derek growled.

Stiles finally got it. He stopped glaring at Derek, looking at him with confusion instead. He was angry with Peter not him?

“He also forgets who’s clever and who’s not, eh, Stiles?” Cora said kindly, whilst accepting a wet cloth from Derek.

Stiles frowned at them, not sure whether they were on his side or not. Derek sighed, passing Cora disinfectant as well. She walked over to Stiles, placed a cool hand on his hip, tugged his t-shirt up and mopped away some of the blood. Stiles tried not to move or make a noise. Derek was staring at his side with cold, blue eyes.

“Dude, chill.” Stiles sighed.

“Any deeper, Stiles…”

“Yeah, okay, I guess that did sound a bit hippy but-”

“He meant your cut, dumbass.” Cora laughed, hitting him gently on the head with a clean bit of cloth.

Stiles shrugged, waiting as she placed the cool disinfectant on his skin. Derek growled at Stiles’s far too relaxed attitude in this situation, before stalking out of the room. Cora sighed as bandaged his side.

“I’m not a baby.” Stiles grumbled.

She smirked at that a bit.

“You’re not a werewolf either.”

He shrugged. At this rate, he wouldn’t ever want to be. Too much aggression, too much pent up rage. It wasn’t healthy. She sighed again, sounding tired, before standing up and walking over to the sink. Her black hair swished in a ponytail behind her, she was wearing her trade mark black tank top, sports bra thing with black sweats. When she turned around again, a forced smile was on her face.

“Let’s go.”

Stiles hopped off the seat, walking over to the door and following her through into the lounge area again. Erica, Boyd, Jackson and Derek were all there, lounging around. Erica hissed when she caught the scent of Stiles’s blood, that somebody had hurt him. Boyd was glaring at Stiles’s side too. Stiles merely rolled his eyes and flopped on the settee. They were all so melodramatic.

Cora laughed at him, moving to walk upstairs. And yeah, actually, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be around werewolves right now. Derek watched as a strange look passed over Stiles’s face. He got to his feet and went upstairs too. He heard his bedroom door slam.

“Well, at least we know why he was so quiet. It was a trick.” Jackson commented.

Nobody else said anything to that.

*

Stiles could hear voices downstairs. He was sat on his bed, half way down it, back against the wall, facing the wardrobe. He had been hearing them floating upstairs all afternoon but now they were louder than before. He frowned. He thought he heard the familiar female tones of…

“Jackson!”

Yep, that was Lydia alright.

“Lydia, what a surprise, what are you doing here, babe?”

“Where is he?”

“What do you mean?”

“Stiles! Don’t give me that! Scott and Isaac can’t find him but they scented you in his room and Boyd outside his house. It doesn’t take a genius.”

With that, Stiles heard her proceed to stomp upstairs, opening all the doors and slamming them again when they weren’t the right ones.

“What’s she doing here?” Derek growled.

“What do you think? She’s looking for Stilinski.”

Derek growled again at that sassy comeback but remained quiet. He heard heavier footsteps, Derek’s, and guessed he was leading her to the right room. Stiles shut his mouth, which he was about to yell out of. The door opened and he was immediately bawled over, ginger hair in his mouth and perfume in his nostrils.

“Lydia.”

Derek almost froze at such…care- yes, care was the right word-in Stiles’s tone.

“Stiles. Oh my god! This is crazy! This is nuts! What assholes!”

“I know right.” Stiles said, smirking at Derek.

Derek crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. Lydia proceeded to grab Stiles’s hand and pull him to his feet. She glanced at his side disapprovingly, making tsk noise in the back of her throat, before leading him downstairs. Jackson and Derek were hurrying downstairs after them. Jackson jogged past, running to stand in front of them, blocking the doorway.

“Lydia, babe, he has to stay here.”

Lydia tossed her hair, clearly not impressed with that information.

“Why?” She demanded, voice ice cold, eyes narrowed.

“Because the plan starts tonight. And Peter would kill us all, slowly.”

“Oh, well we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Stiles asked sarcastically.

Lydia pointed at Stiles, as if to back up what he just said.

“Point.” She said, pursing her lips together.

She reached for the door handle but Jackson stepped in front of it, despite every boyfriend instinct that was screaming at him not to.

“Jackson!” She shrieked.

“Lydia, I can’t let you pass. I’m sorry. You could tell McCall or Lahey. Just stay with me tonight, yeah?”

Jackson walked forward, placing both hands on her hips but Lydia turned quickly, her strawberry-blonde hair hitting him in the face. Jackson leant his head back reflexively. She dropped Stiles’s wrist and stormed up the main flight of stairs, not the ones they had come down. How many stairs, rooms and corridors did this place have?

“Oh, yeah, she gets the nicer approach?” Stiles asked incredulously.

Jackson shrugged, running after her.

“Unless you want to share a room with anybody here, Stilinski…”

Stiles glared after his retreating back, ducking his head away when he met Derek’s gaze by accident. Yeah, totally, absolutely by accident. He shook his head, pushing past Derek.

“You’re all crazy.”

He heard Derek chuckle behind him.

*

The sun was beginning to set, its light was dying on the other side of the hills. Jackson was flipping through the channels in the lounge, one arm resting across the back of the settee, Lydia under it, snuggled into his side. Stiles was walking through when a familiar, gravelly voice spoke on screen.

He jumped over the top of the settee, earning an indignant ‘hey’ from both Lydia and Jackson and an amused smirk from Derek. He grabbed the remote from Jackson’s chair arm. He turned the volume up. Jackson opened his mouth to protest about the channel but Stiles shushed him.

“When David Attenborough talks, the whole world listens.”

Jackson rolled his eyes but he shut his mouth. Derek watched, amused. How could Stiles find a couple of tigers wondering through the woods entertaining or even worthwhile for watching? But Stiles was completely enthralled, lapping up the information on the rainforest, listening to every word and rooting for the little cubs.

“She wouldn’t just abandon them!” He protested, arms flailing at the screen.

“She probably got them food.” Derek said reasonably, walking over.

He sat down on the settee, next to Stiles. The programme had his interest now, if only to prove he was right. Derek swore under his breath. The mother was led by a rock, her coat matted with blood. The cubs were overjoyed when they found her but she couldn’t move. So they didn’t either. David Attenborough informed them how the family shouldn’t stay there for too long. It was dangerous.

At that moment, Erica and Boyd came in, standing near the door. They didn’t move forward to join in and watch the programme, in fact, Derek thought they looked rather uncomfortable, like they knew something was wrong. There wasn’t anything though, was there? Beside Stiles, Lydia tensed as Peter walked into the room. Stiles didn’t pay much attention, still sat cross-legged on the settee, listening to the brief insight to the lives of some nearby Meer Kat's.

“Stiles.” Peter said the word like a command.

Stiles had already decided he wasn’t having any of that. Oh no. As Scott had so wisely put it to Derek ‘you may be an alpha, but you’re not my alpha’ applied to Peter right now. Peter sighed impatiently, placing a hand under Stiles’s chin and forcing his eyes to his own.

“We’re starting the plan. If you care to pay attention?”

He dropped Stiles’s chin, purposefully inspecting his nails, or rather his claws. Stiles glared at him and inspected his own and casually lifted his middle finger, feigning a little surprise that it was there, in retaliation. Next to him, Derek choked on a laugh. Peter growled.

“As you may have noticed we now have the pleasure of Miss Lydia Martin’s company.” Peter began, stopping momentarily to flash her a fake smile.

Rest assured, she gave him her bitchiest one back.

“However incompetent we may think the enemy-” Here he paused as Stiles snorted. “They can’t fail to overlook the fact one pack member and a close friend have disappeared. Plus, Jackson, you’re such a terrible kidnapper they probably tracked you easily through scent.”

“Hey!” Jackson protested, frowning whilst sitting more to attention.

Lydia patted his chest comfortingly.

“So that leaves us with the next part of the plan. Now, we do want McCall to join us but we also need to teach him a lesson. Two members of a pack who are loyal to Hale’s may visit to help us out, but I’m not certain. Stiles, how about a road trip?”

Stiles groaned into the cushion next to his head.

“Ugh, no thanks. ”

“We need to confuse Scott with your scent.” Peter gritted out.

“Well use my cologne then. Or my hoodie. Whatever.”

Peter nodded at that.

“There was also another reason other than the possibility of you escaping that I clawed your side. Scott would scent the blood.”

“A little close to home, don’t you think?” Erica growled, still unhappy with Peter for that.

“Exactly. Because what Derek and Boyd said made sense. Stiles is the intelligent one, the one with the bat, the one who researches.” He waved a hand to the side, dismissing it all.

Stiles narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“So the lesson for McCall here is not to interfere with us. Because he really can’t solve things himself.” His eyes lingered on Stiles for a moment.

“Not without you.” He allowed.

“He so can!” Stiles protested.

“We’ll see shall we? Because that’s what this is for him, from here on out. A big mystery. Let’s see if he’s Sherlock shall we?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes again.

“The game is on.”

At least Erica had the grace to laugh.


	3. Hands are tied.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles decides on a new plan. Meanwhile, Scott and Isaac join the game. Oh, and Derek and Stiles are bound together...in more ways than one haha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rush a little more to get this chapter done so I hope its still ok.Thank you again for such an insanely good response (2400+ views?? whoa thank you). The comments were really helpful for shaping this chapter, knowing what you'd like in here as well.  
> As always, feel free to let me know what you think! :)  
> Update: I will add another chapter soon (hopefully tomorrow) but I've been quite busy lately :)

Scott was going to kill Peter for this.

“You can’t just take a person!” He protested, for the fourth time, to Isaac.

“Well, clearly, they have.” Isaac deadpanned.

“We should have been there…we shouldn’t have left him alone!”

Isaac leant against the hedge, arms crossed. He was wearing a lilac cardigan over a plan white tee today, accompanied by some black jeans. Scott’s brown eyes stared back at him, encompassed with confusion.

“Scott, we were going online to talk to him through video games. It’s not like we abandoned him.”

“We have to find him.”

Isaac was having trouble being patient with this type of Scott. He’d always wondered why Derek always couldn’t, why he didn’t see the valid points Scott made, with cases such as the Kanima. Now, he could see why. Passionate Scott was one who was difficult to reason with, not completely though.

“Can you smell him now?”

Scott hesitated; sniffing the air in what would almost be a comic way, if this wasn’t so serious. He nodded quickly.

“Yeah…yeah, he was here recently.”

Isaac nodded, he followed Scott as they walked along in the last of the evening sunshine, it would be getting dark soon. A strange scent carried through the air, from a few fields over. They both stopped stock still in their tracks. The metallic taste and familiar scent of his best friend accompanying it made Scott roar. The branches of the trees nearby shook, the blades of grass beneath their feet quivering.

*

“Well, with that, I think they’ve arrived. Don’t you?” Peter asked the group.

“The cars ready outside.” Boyd offered.

Peter nodded. That was what he’d asked them to do. He turned to face Lydia directly.

“Right. I trust you not to try and warn them. And Lydia, darling, don’t try to run.”

She tilted her head, appraising him, a fake smile of amusement on her face.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin my hair.” She agreed, still fixing him with that fake smile.

Peter smirked before turning to Stiles. This could be slightly more complicated. The whole room tensed waiting. Stiles didn’t feel the tension, though it wafted around him, consuming Derek, who was the nearest to him. Stiles merely glared at Peter. Peter sighed dramatically.

“And after this morning and the car, I want Stiles tied to a member of pack at all times. He’s not leaving. Understood?”

Stiles turned the corners of his lips down, making an expression that showed he considered that a fair deal. Peter raised his eyebrows.

“I think Jackson’s a likely candidate for that.”

“No. Derek is.” Peter decided.

Stiles shrugged, turning to wink at the werewolf beside him. Derek glowered at him, then at Peter.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not.” Peter deadpanned.

He gestured to Erica, for her to step forward. She sighed, doing so and slapping something into his hand, with a bit more aggression than necessary. Peter always was one for crazy schemes. This one she wasn’t sure she wanted to be a part of. McCall was close by and if they weren’t careful everything would go wrong.

Peter smiled smugly, holding a piece of rope, which he handed to Derek. Derek sighed, whilst grudgingly tying his wrist with one end. He turned to Stiles, hand out _asking for his wrist to tie it up_. Stiles shook his head. No, duh. Derek rolled his eyes, reaching for Stiles’s wrist himself. Stiles took this opportunity to get to his feet and try to run but Derek grabbed his waist. Stiles still fought, half joking, half desperate to get away from this whole crazy idea.

“You’ll never take me alive!” He shouted dramatically.

Peter hissed, knowing Scott was close by. Derek sighed, clamping a hand over the teen’s mouth. He could feel Stiles still trying to talk into his hand. He kept hold of the squirming teen, bringing him closer to his body, practically sitting him in his lap as he tried to hold Stiles down enough to tie the rope on his wrist. In the end, Boyd walked over, rolled his sleeves up and kept a firm hold on Stiles’s forearm as Derek tied the other end of the rope, knowing he was condemning himself to hours of chattering and sarcastic comments.

“We best get going. They’re almost here.”

His pack frowned at him.

“I can’t smell McCall or Lahey that near.” Cora voiced what they were all thinking.

“Not them…we need to leave. Now.”

*

Scott and Isaac paused, Scott’s hands still bunched into fists, a look of fury on his face. Isaac had to admit, he had never seen those adorable eyes so dangerous as when somebody messes with the Stilinski and McCall pair.

“Did you hear that?” Isaac asked, although it was pointless to ask, maybe even a little sassy.

“Yes.” Scott growled. “They’ll never take him alive.”

“I think he was half joking, Scott.”

“Yeah but why is he?”

Isaac shrugged, glad he wore his cardigan. The darkness was settling in and so was the wind, tearing at their sides, planting Goosebumps on their flesh.

“Maybe their playing video games?”

They stopped talking, both noticing the change in scent. There was still the blood but there was also anger here…and a lot of it for one person. Scott sniffed again, the wind whisking the scent even as he caught it.

“Derek. And Stiles.”

“Why would they both be angry?”

Scott shook his head, it didn’t make sense. He’d smelt Peter, Derek and Stiles a few paces back but here was just Stiles and Derek. Presumably, Stiles was the only one being held here against his will or hurt-the thought made Scott’s stomach churn-so what was Derek angry about?  
*

“Stiles. Shut. Up.” Derek growled.

“It’s just a bit of Spice Girls, Derek, I really don’t see the problem.”

With this last sentence, Stiles gestured animatedly with his hands, wildly throwing his arms about, flailing in his usual manner. Only this time it caused Derek to almost topple into him.

 _“Stiles.”_ He snarled.

But Stiles was laughing and so was Erica, on Stiles’s other side. They were sat in the back of the car, Cora was in the passenger seat and Boyd was driving. Jackson, Lydia and Peter had taken a different car. They’d gone round the back, the werewolves insisting that because Scott was at the front of the house they should go in the opposite direction. This, to Stiles, really didn’t make much sense for his plan of action. So, he’d concocted a new one. And boy, was it genius. He’d annoy the hell out of them. Then, they wouldn’t want him as their captive. He might even throw in a few pranks, should he so desire. Which, hell yeah, he did. He’d start with Derek.

“Stop moving.” Derek demanded.

So far, Stiles had to admit he was off to a pretty good start to the plan, if he did say so himself. Or maybe Derek was too easy to wind up. Stiles glanced down at his hand, which was drumming on his knee, which was also moving as he tapped the floor with his foot.

“That’s what happens when you don’t give me my Adderal, man. Your fault, totally.”

“What? Jackson didn’t get you your medication?” Derek practically hissed.

“Hello? Have you been listening to anything anybody has said recently? Jackson is the worst kidnapper to ever kidnap. Ever.” Stiles grinned, thinking he was being funny.

Derek nearly let out a roar of anger. He nodded at Boyd, who pulled over to the side of the road. Cora got out of her seat and leant her head back in the car to talk to them. Stiles was thoroughly bemused and confused as to what was going on.

“I’ll get it.”

“Be fast.” Derek warned.

He glanced at Stiles’s restlessness, the way he wriggled in his seat and hummed under his breath, how he didn’t focus on more than one thing for two seconds.

“Please.” He joked.

Cora smiled slightly, nodding and leaving. As soon as she’d gone, Boyd’s mobile started ringing.

“Calm down, Jackson. We only stopped because someone didn’t get Stiles’s medication and he’s driving Derek up the wall.

There was a silence and a rapid fire of words, presumably Jackson protesting, from the receiver.

“Yeah, I was there too but I was in the car. Not the room with the Adderall on a shelf.”

More talking on the other end, then Boyd nodded.

“He can’t hear that.” Stiles helpfully inputted.

Boyd just shook his head at him, dismissing it. Next to Stiles, Erica rolled her eyes.

“Cora’s back now.” Was all he said before he hung up.

She was. Record timing. She chucked the pills at Stiles’s chest, as Boyd started the car. Stiles had to marvel sometimes at supernatural abilities, like speed. Under Derek’s threatening glare, he took his medication and beamed right back at the glowering werewolf.  
*

“Okay, this is confusing.” Isaac said, holding a hand to his forehead. “I swear I just smelt Cora.”

“They were all here.” Scott answered with a shrug, leading the way up the steps to the house.

“No. I mean like a fresh scent.”

Scott turned, scanning the area for her but finding no trace. He sniffed the air too, to find that Isaac was right.

“Maybe they’re still inside.” He said, opening the door.

They spent a few minutes checking out the place. It was enormous and Scott began to grasp how daunting looking through all these rooms and corridors would be. He turned to call out to Isaac but sensed a shadow moving, a whisper of speed behind him, which meant he was the prey. His eyes glowed red to defy that, the true alpha that he was.

He turned around, finding not Isaac, not even Peter, but two werewolves who he didn’t recognise.  
*

“You know I’ve noticed you guys don’t really like Peter. And I think that’s where we can meet an agreement. So, now that we both agree, let’s park this car, ditch the whole crazy idea and-”

“Stiles. For the millionth time, shut up.” Derek ground out between his teeth.

Erica pouted.

“I don’t know.” She reached across to ruffle Stiles’s hair. “I think he’s cute.”

She leant back in her chair, her red lips stretching into a smirk as Stiles tried to right his hair, dragging Derek’s arm with his, much to Derek’s annoyance.

“Like a little bird. Chirping. All day.” She finished.

She watched as Derek grew more and more alarmed at such a prospect. Stiles talking right next to him, in his ear. All day. Dear God. At that moment, they pulled over. Like the silent pack guardian that he is, Boyd turned to everybody, said the word ‘toilets’ and exited the vehicle. They all clambered out, Stiles and Derek taking slightly more time due to the rope tying their wrists together. When they were all out of the car, Jackson pulled the Porsche up beside them and Lydia, Peter and him all got out. Peter was wearing shades, smiling pleasantly. Stiles shook his head. What a creep. He did something as crazy as this ‘mystery’ to Scott and enjoyed a breath of fresh air whilst he was at it? Not right. Stiles scratched the back of his head, casually, but accidently brought Derek’s arm with him.

“So, ugh, oh sorry, dude. Um, how are we going to do this?” He asked, eyeing the toilet sign sceptically.

“You pee, Stiles. Not too difficult.” Derek rolled his eyes.

“No, I meant with this.” Stiles said.

He gestured around frantically, pulling Derek with him so he’d get the point. The rope was stupid.

“I’ll undo my end of the rope and then redo it when you’re done. Happy?”

Stiles nodded, quite content with that actually.  
*

There was absolute silence amongst them. Scott glanced at the two werewolves in turn, evaluating them, taking in their gold and blue beta eyes. He frowned, confused as to why it smelt so much like Peter’s pack and then here these werewolves were instead? Where was Stiles?

“Where’s Stiles?” He asked, repeating the question that had been in his mind.

One of the werewolves, the man with blue eyes not the woman with gold, chuckled softly but gave no other reply. Scott eyes them warily, his red true alpha eyes fading slightly. Behind them, Isaac casually walked into the room. He stopped abruptly upon seeing them.

“Oh, uh, I see I’ve interrupted something.” He said, seemingly apologetic.

They turned to stare at him, the woman raising her eyebrows. He shrugged, shifting within a split second.

“Shame.” He grinned, roaring and running to aid his alpha, his friend.

*

“Hey Derek?”

“Stiles, I’m _pissing_.”

“Pissed off? Yeah you are a bit, aren’t you.”

Derek ignored that, in favour for silence. Or imagining the silence that wasn’t there because the next thing he knew…

“Hey Derek?”

Derek sighed, zipping up his pants and washing his hands.

“What?” He asked.

Stiles did the same before answering. He happily lathered soap on his hands, leaning over Derek to get to the dryer and laughing when the hot air ruffled Derek’s hair, causing a grumpy frown from the werewolf.

“Nothing. I just wanted to see your reaction.” He shrugged.

Derek shoved him against the wall, face into the wall, his own arm leaning into Stiles’s back.

“Hey! That was a joke, genius!”

Derek didn’t comment, only to retie the rope onto Stiles wrist, which when Stiles understood what was happening, he was not best pleased. He flung his arms out in protest.

“I mean come on! That’s not fair!”

Derek chuckled until he was being flung around with Stiles arms.

“Stiles.” He growled in his ear, pressing himself into Stiles’s back.

Stiles stilled, breathing heavily, angrily. Derek wanted to say something else but keeping a tight grip on your captive and forcing them not to move was probably not the best place. He knew it was difficult for Stiles, being without his pack.

“I’m sorry.” Derek gruffed, meaning about the kidnapping idea.

“I know.” Stiles said weakly back.

Derek frowned, staring at the back of Stiles’s head, the bare side of his neck, the pale skin and that sense of protecting something fragile again came back to him but not as an echo. This time it slammed him in the chest. Derek stepped back.

Stiles nodded at him, eyeing him weirdly before leading the way. Derek following because, well, they were bound together. When they got to the cars, nobody was there.

“Awesome!” Stiles yelled, running for Jackson’s Porsche.

He hopped in the driver seat, leaving Derek standing awkwardly still outside, looking down at him. Stiles fiddled with something, Derek heard a clang and looked to see some metal casing falling onto the floor. He stared in shock. Jackson would kill them. Stiles found some wires and tampered with them until he gave a cry of triumph. The car started, rushing forward slightly, and Derek had to run to keep up.

“Stiles! What are you doing!” He roared over the wind.

Stiles glanced over, looking like he’d forgotten Derek was there, and laughing at the sight of him running alongside the car. Stiles clutched his side, still steering the wheel.

“Hotwiring it! Hop in!”

“I can’t just-” Derek cut off his own sentence, seeing an approaching tree in his way.

He growled, unhappy about it, even as he jumped for the car, landing on the other side, right in the passenger seat. His wrist was burning from the distance and effort and the rope still trying to keep the two together. Stiles’s wrist looked like it was too. Right now, Derek was too annoyed to think about that. He was positively fuming. He grabbed for the wheel.

“We’re turning back right now.”

Stiles kept a firm hold on the wheel too, steering it the opposite direction.

“Uh, no we’re not. I took a lot of effort to get here, buddy.”

Derek roared, eyes glowing but before he could speak, Stiles pointed a finger at him condescendingly.

“And before you say anything, you’re not the alpha anymore.”

Derek almost crashed the car. He managed to pull it over to the side, glaring at Stiles through the impending silence. He eyed the wires pointedly.

“Jackson will hit the roof.”

Stiles shrugged.

“That was kind of what I was hoping for, in the worst case scenario, actually.”

The best case would to have actually made a successful escape but he’d had a valiant effort. At his words, Derek frowned in confusion.

*

“Where’s Stiles!” Scott demanded again.

He and Isaac threw one of the betas each into the wall, where they slumped, dizzied, bleeding, growling, snarling and shaking their heads.

“We had a little talk with him, about your pack. He’s not much a speaker, is he?” The woman asked, glaring at Scott.

Scott narrowed his eyes. Well, that certainly didn’t make sense. He knew Stiles would never speak about their pack to rivals but not speaking at all…that definitely wasn’t a Stiles mechanism.

“You didn’t kidnap him.”

“Wh-of course we did.” The woman gaped.

Isaac crossed his arms, as unimpressed with the story as Scott.

“Really? Well you clearly kidnapped a different Stiles.”

“We didn’t! He tried to run so we had to use a little force…you might have smelt the blood…I get too aggressive sometimes.” The man chuckled.

Scott roared in frustration because this didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be them. Even though he’d smelt blood, he’d also smelt Peter. But then what was Derek angry about? Why was Cora’s scent fresh? Why was Stiles’s scent fresh for a lot longer range than the other members of pack?  
He shook his head, signalling for Isaac that they should leave these two in the dust. He didn’t think they’d taken Stiles. Every instinct said it was Peter. But some things weren’t adding up.

As he and Isaac ran from the scene, out the front door and around the field, he tripped over something and fell. He got back up easily enough, Isaac pulling him to his feet. He was about to thank him but the words died on his lips, he stared in wonder at the thing he’s fallen over, picking up a discarded bottle of Stiles’s cologne.

“Okay. That’s just weird.” Isaac stated.

*

Peter was less than pleased when they trooped back, Derek tugging Stiles along.

“Where the hell have you been?” He demanded.

Derek gave him a deadpan expression before pointing a thumb over his back.

“Jackson’s Porsche is over there.”

“Wha-” Jackson began, stopping short when he saw his car.

“Is that a dent, Stilinski?”

Stiles shrugged.

“There may be a few loose wires in there somewhere, as well.” He commented casually.

Jackson barely restrained from roaring in public, he seemed to be turning a steady shade of purple. Lydia gave him a consoling pat on the back. Before Peter could lecture them, his phone started ringing. He answered the call.

“What do you mean they didn’t fall for it? I know, yes, you are still friends of the Hales but next time, live up to the reputation of being liars.”

He hung up the heated phone call, glancing at his pack, who were staring at him, in turn, with open surprise in their eyes.

“What?” He asked pleasantly.

And that had to be another point to him, Stiles thought, inwardly grinning. In fact, he was outwardly grinning too, he didn’t care if Peter saw it. His pack weren’t stupid. Jackson’s car was wrecked. Derek was like the grumpy cat today. Only Erica, Boyd, Cora and Peter left to annoy. He saw pranks in the not too distant future. Lots of them.

*

“Allison, I know you said you wouldn’t get involved with sides but-”

“Scott, I told you no.”

Isaac took hold of the phone.

“Peter's pack took Stiles. We need your help.”

Scott took the phone back, frowning.

“So will you help us?”

“Let me get my bow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I will add another chapter soon (hopefully tomorrow) but I've been quite busy lately :)


	4. What a joker.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles starts his pranks. Erica first.  
> Meanwhile, Isaac and Scott continue looking for Stiles.  
> (Allison will join in, in the next chapter!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for such a long wait for this chapter. I've been really busy recently but I managed to write it tonight (woo!). Anyway, hope you enjoy, feedback is always welcome, thank you so, so much for such an incredible response. This is honestly just fun to write but I'm glad you all like it too! :)  
> Also, Allison will be in the next chapter I just wanted to focus on the pranks for this one!  
> Word tells me I have made up the words: undignifingly, hairdried and bagsy. All of which I apologise but I've decided to keep :)
> 
> Note made 6/5/14: I'm currently revising for my GCSE exams so that's why I haven't uploaded because these are important BUT I will write a chapter THIS FRIDAY/SATURDAY YAY SO HAPPY I HAVE TIME!! On the downside my first exams tomorrow haha. ha.

Stiles sat in the back of the car, strangely he was obediently quiet, which made Derek highly suspicious. He sat next to Stiles, eyeing him warily, like he was going to jump Boyd and hotwire this car at any second. Stiles grinned to himself, which also had Derek worrying. Erica raised her chin, to look at Cora, who was sat in the front still.

“Did Peter tell you where we’re going? I need time to wash my hair.”

“That takes two minutes.” Stiles scoffed.

She glared at him.

“Not if it’s long and needs to be hairdried and straightened.”

 “Well just don’t-” Stiles broke off, his laugh fading at the murderous expression on Erica’s face.

“Or, you know, take as long as you want brushing each strand on your pretty little head.”

She smirked at him.

“Thank you.” She replied, as sarcastic as he could be.

Cora turned round to face them, a mild look of irritation on her face at being asked into a conversation and then not being part of that conversation.

“We’re stopping at a motel not too far. Jackson’s ordering fast food.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes.

“This isn’t some weird wolf thing, is it? Where you fatten me up for some weird ritual or sacrifice thing for the next full moon?”

Cora rolled her eyes, turning to face the front. In that moment, Stiles could see her family resembles to Derek.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She said.

That was all there was to it, no infliction of any kind of tone, she merely said it. Stiles huffed slightly, leaning back in his chair, looking thoroughly stumped. Next to him, Derek chuckled.

“We’re here.” Boyd said, startling them all as he broke his own silence.

*

“Why the hell is his cologne in the middle of the field?” Scott demanded, frowning.

Isaac scratched his head, he was holding said cologne and clearly at a loss for words, as confused as Scott was.

“Maybe he wanted the grass to smell nice?”

Scott gave him his best dead-pan expression. Isaac shrugged.

“I think we should follow Cora’s scent. It’s the only fresh one here, we won’t lose it.”

“What if she ran in circles to confuse us?”

Isaac crossed his arms.

“Why would she do that?”

Scott threw his arms up in the air with exasperation, shaking his head with incredulity at the whole situation.

“I don’t know! They seem to like mind games.”

He was now stood with his hands on his hips, his brow furrowed as he stared at the nothing in the distance, like it would conjure up a walking, talking Stiles if he did so for long enough.

“Let’s follow her scent. Or we’ll lose that too.” Isaac huffed, walking forward.

Scott watched him walk for a while, before jogging slightly to join him.

*

As Erica stepped out of the car, Stiles following, she sighed. Her voice rang out to greet him, a grin on her face, her hands showcasing the motel behind her.

“Welcome to motel Grandeur.”

As Derek stepped out of the car, still attached to Stiles by the rope, and therefore following him, he gave her an unimpressed look.

“She means motel BH. After Beacon Hills. Original.”

She made a face at him.

“You’re no fun.” She retorted, before linking her arm with Stiles’s free one, leading the way.

This, of course, meant that Derek was dragged along too, much to his disgruntlement.

“ _Erica.”_ He growled.

Behind them, Boyd chuckled as he locked the car. They booked a room, Derek giving the woman behind the counter one of his fake smiles, charming her. Stiles refrained from laughing, biting his lip instead. And, hell, if Derek found that distracting.

Erica was floating around the ‘lobby’, which was more of a large porch area, trying to inconspicuously cover the view of the rope and failing, in Stiles’s opinion. But the young woman behind the counter was fooled, giggling at Derek. She leant forward, her finger tiptoeing up Derek’s massive bicep, which was leant on the counter.

“I finish work at ten.”

Derek’s smile tightened.

“I’m afraid that room’s not for two.” He said, his voice low and husky.

Next to him, Stiles balked, gagging. Erica laughed loudly at his reaction. The young woman behind the counter merely fluttered her eyelashes at Derek, as she handed him the key. He nodded his thanks, walking over to the steps. Stiles, of course, had to follow him and Erica and Boyd were close behind. They thought they had fooled her until she called out, her voice hesitant.

“Is that rope?”

At those three words, spoken so they were so small, the three werewolves froze on the stairs. Hell, Derek almost fell down them, missing his footing. Stiles didn’t even like this whole idea. He didn’t want to be kidnapped, but the startled look in Derek’s eyes, the startled expressions on all their faces…Peter wouldn’t be happy with them if they failed here. He sighed before grinning, moving his arm higher to be in plain sight of the young woman. She stared, frowning in confusion. Derek almost hissed at him, he’d known Stiles was clumsy sometimes but this was taking the mick.

“Kinky, right?” Stiles asked her, still grinning.

The poor girl was at a loss for words, her mouth opening and closing twice before she shut it firmly closed. She glared at Derek with hostility.

“What, you going to tie him up to a bed in a motel? Original.” She scoffed, turning her back in disgust.

They didn’t need any further prompting, walking up the stairs to their room in silence. Well, almost. Erica was laughing quietly the whole way. Stiles had a feeling she would have rolled on the floor in tears, if she could get enough breath in between laughing. When they paused outside the door, as Derek opened it, he felt Erica’s shoulders shaking, next to his, with supressed laughter.

*

“I’m not going in there.”

“Isaac, come on. It’s just toilets.”

Isaac stood on the side of the road, in his purple cardigan, clearly very annoyed. He pointed at the small building next to them.

“They stink of piss. That’s unhygienic, Scott.”

Scott rolled his eyes, because yes, sometimes he did take lessons from Derek Hale.

“They’re toilets. What did you think they’d smell like?”

“Oh, let’s see, _soap_.”

Eventually, Scott managed to persuade Isaac to enter the toilets of doom, they stood on the threshold. Scott sniffing. Isaac eyed him warily.

“No judging, bro.” Scott warned him.

Isaac grinned slightly, leaning against the wall, briefly forgetting the grime there.

“I don’t know how you expect to smell anything over the overwhelming smell of piss.”

Scott ignored him, in favour of trailing around the urinals, sniffing the air with a frown. All things considered, Isaac didn’t think that too suspicious.

“Stiles was…happy? That doesn’t make sense. But Derek was really pissed.”

Now Isaac was frowning too, Scott was right, that didn’t make sense.

“How can you smell him going a toilet?”

“No, I mean like pissed off. Well, I guess that makes sense. He never smiles.”

Scott stilled, smelling something in the air, a whiff of…anger? Both of them were angry. Again. What kept happening to do that? Scott visibly unfroze, moving to the wall. Stiles was definitely angry, wait, no, he was disappointed? Derek’s anger was lost here, he seemed…upset still. Scott turned around.

“Anything?” Isaac asked, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, standing behind him.

“Maybe they were comparing dick sizes?” Scott answered.

Isaac spluttered with laughter. Scott huffed.

“Nothing makes sense about this.”

Isaac smothered his laughter, physically clamping a hand on his own mouth. After a few seconds, he took it off, his hand hovering out towards Scott, like he was about to ask a question.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Did you really think they’re, Derek Hale especially, insecure?”

Scott ignored him, even as Isaac followed him out of the toilets, still laughing.

*

As soon as they got into the room, Stiles  called out to bagsy the toilet. Derek glared at him.

“Do you know how difficult that makes this?”

“Just stand outside and wait if you’re so uptight about it.” Stiles shrugged, walking over to the toilet with purposeful strides, pulling Derek with him.

“I’m not uptight.” Derek gritted out between his teeth, his tone contradicting his words even as he said them.

From where she sat flicking through the TV channels, Erica laughed. Even Boyd chuckled, he sat on the arm of the chair, his own arm wrapped around Erica.

“Sure, you’re not, buddy. You just wait there.” He said, beginning to take his own half of the rope off his wrist.

“No tricks, Stiles.”

“No, duh.” Stiles said.

He hadn’t promised no pranks.

*

“Is that…burn marks on the road?” Isaac squinted.

Scott resisted the urge to face palm at the amount of things that weren’t making sense. They weren’t having a lot of luck here.

“It smells of burning…Derek was angry here but Stiles…he was loving it?”

Isaac gave him a dumbfounded expression to rival the one he was wearing himself.

*

The shampoo was easy enough. Empty the motel packet, replace with the motel bath oils. Stiles wasn’t sure but he’d guessed that would make Erica’s hair a lot greasier. He’d been about to put toothpaste in but he’d realised she’d notice that and then he wouldn’t have time for his finishing touch on her hair. The crème a la crème.

This was going to be more difficult. He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a minute, seeing himself thinking hard, his lips pressed together in concentration, his brown eyes searching the air for an answer and his hair falling into his forehead. He swept it back, ruffling it. He didn’t have any hairspray to keep it back…not that he ever used that bottle Isaac bought him for his birthday to keep him ‘with the trends’, not at all. Stiles grinned.

“Derreeeek.” He yelled, knowing the werewolf was listening on the other side.

“What?” Derek snapped back.

“Can you get Cora to go back to mine again? I forgot hairspray. It’s the one with the green lid.”

“Why would I make her go all that way for hairspray?”

“Do you want to play that game, really, big guy? Just think if my hair gets in my eyes, I won’t be able to see, then as you guys insist with the whole rope situation, I might walk out into the road, dragging you with me and we’d both end up dead and Scott would mourn my loss by killing your entire pack-”

“If you shut up, I’ll tell her to get it.”

“Deal.”

“Now, Stiles?”

"Yeah?"

“Actually use the toilet.”

Stiles didn’t actually need to go a toilet. He’d been not too long ago in those disgusting, run-down toilets. He turned on the tap, turned it off, pressed the flush button and then turned the tap back on again like a mysterious badass. From the other side of the door, Derek shook his head with incredulity. Stiles was getting worse than Isaac if he was worrying about hairspray before peeing.

*

“Ok, this is getting too confusing!” Isaac practically yelled.

They were still on the side of the road, near the tyre marks, idly letting the cars pass them by. Scott glanced at him, slightly concerned.

“I swear I just smelt Cora again! A fresh scent, Scott!”

He roared, running into the darkness, sure he’d seen a shadow move. Immediately, Scott ran after him. He caught up, running flat out alongside him, his heart racing; sure they’d find Cora, opening into the clearing and…being enveloped in fog. Darkness had fallen. They hadn’t noticed, busy with their search for Stiles. From somewhere next to him in the fog, he heard Isaac’s voice, surprisingly small now.

“Hey, Scott, did you ever watch that episode of Winnie the Pooh…with the fog?”

Scott shook his head, no. Then, he realised Isaac couldn’t see that.

“No. What happened?” He replied.

It felt creepy, talking to himself yet knowing someone was out there, the fog clouding everything, werewolf vision or not. Isaac’s voice seemed to come out of the very darkness.

“They got lost.”

*

There was a knock on the bathroom door, Stiles opened it a crack and Cora’s arm passed him the spray with the green lid on it. Luckily, the label had worn out of this bottle, used many Halloween nights ago for his Joker costume. He put the can in his jean pocket, pulling his shirt over the pockets to hide the suspicious can-like bulge there.

He opened the door and was immediately faced with a grumpy looking Derek.

“’Sup, sourwolf?” He grinned.

“How long does it take to spray your hair?” He growled.

Erica ignored them, pushing past to wash her hair. Cora cut the phone call she was taking, putting her mobile in her jean pocket and turning to face them.

“Lydia says they’re here, they’ve got a room down the hall. She’s also not happy she has to use small motel shampoo. She wants ours.”

“Well, she can’t have it!” Stiles burst out, attempting to be indignant. His heart was pounding.

Derek glanced at him sideways.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Isaac.” He warned him.

Stiles laughed, somewhat shakily, but they didn’t seem to notice. Cora was already grabbing their attention, telling them more of the phone call.

“I also told him about getting the spray, _because_ guess who was wandering around the side of the motorway?”

“Oh God, no.” Stiles face palmed.

Cora nodded, grinning. Erica walked out of the bathroom, seemingly unaware of the crime she'd just committed to her hair. She'd dressed in the pyjamas she'd taken into the bathroom with her, her head perked up at the conversation. She stayed next to them.

“Oh yes. And they followed me. I _think_ right now they’re about five metres deep into the thick fog there. Amateurs.” She scoffed.

Erica burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. Even Boyd was smiling. Derek allowed the briefest of smiles to grace his lips before it was gone, banished completely.

“You’re not tied up.” He said, alarmed as he glanced at Stiles.

“I, uh, yeah, what? Shit.” Stiles swore, realising he could have discretely, or not so discretely, whatever, made a run for it.

Derek then proceeded to pick him up, Stiles feeling undignifingly like a bride or a baby, before dropping him on the bed and tying him to the post.

“Uh, I believe the kind woman was joking about that downstairs. Original was meant sarcastically. As in, unoriginal so don’t tie people to beds-”

Erica was shaking her head in agreement.

“Oh good. See, Erica has sense, that’s something I never thought I’d say-”

“He has to be tied to you, Derek. I’d imagine he tosses and turns in the night. That’s not going to be nice to his wrist.” She nodded at the rope now securely tied to the bed post.

“Fine.” Derek grunted.

He tied their wrists to the rope instead. Cora crawled over to the settee, stretching out on it. Boyd and Erica slinked over to the other twin bed, which left Derek and Stiles realising with horror that they were tied together. Cora turned off the lights.

“You better not snore.” Derek grumbled as he climbed into bed, pulling most of the sheets with him.

Stiles laughed, shaking his head but he was all too aware of Derek’s body heat. They had their backs to each other, like an invisible wall was drawn down the middle of their bed. Their bed. That was weird to think of. And yet, surely Derek felt the cracks in that wall, the small chisels that the electricity between them was making? Surely, that wasn’t only him?

He led awake until two thirty was showing in big, red text on the alarm clock next to the bed. He sighed, then paused, hearing snoring from Erica and Boyd’s bed. Bingo. Carefully, he reached into his pocket with his free hand and prised the lid off with his teeth, grimacing at the irony of how wolf-like that was. He gripped the spray in his heads, like it was a lethal weapon, which he considered it was, before inching his body ever so slightly off the bed. Derek didn’t move. He breathed a sigh of relief. Feeling braver, he put both feet on the floor, swinging them to do so. He was just standing up, had walked maybe two steps, when the rope went taunt. He glanced, panicked, at Derek. The werewolf slept on. Stiles frowned, smiling a little. It was time to test this out. He tugged the rope again, walking further towards Erica, who was sound asleep. Derek was pulled along the bed, his face mushed against the bed sheets, his dark hair falling into his face, but he kept his peaceful expression. Stiles tried to smother his laughter. By the time he reached Erica, Derek was half hanging off the bed, one arm out, the other by his side, his head dangling off the side. His lower half stayed firmly on the bed. Stiles merrily sprayed Erica’s hair as the werewolves around him slept on. Erica murmured slightly, Stiles held his breath, waiting for her to wake up. But she merely turned over, wrapping an arm around Boyd, who clung to her tighter. Feeling like he was intruding, and he’d done a good day’s work, Stiles put the can back in his jean pocket, pulled his shirt over said pocket again, and tiptoed back into bed. He climbed back into bed with Derek Hale, something he’d never thought he’d do. As he was about to drift off to sleep, he felt Derek’s free arm wrap around his torso, almost protectively. He glanced at Derek. The werewolf was still asleep, he hadn’t seen Stiles spray Erica’s hair.

*

When morning broke, Erica’s voice woke them before the light did.

“STILES!”

*

From the middle of the forest they’d wandered into, still walking aimlessly around in circles in a thick fog, Isaac called out to Scott, pointing even though he knew his friend couldn’t see him. No doubt Scott had heard too.

“I think he’s that way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably edit better before I post! Now I think I've edited it, sorry!  
> Update: now I'm done!:)
> 
> Note made 6/5/14: I'm currently revising for my GCSE exams so that's why I haven't uploaded because these are important BUT I will write a chapter THIS FRIDAY/SATURDAY YAY SO HAPPY I HAVE TIME!! On the downside my first exams tomorrow haha. ha.


	5. The vending machiene, the pole and the cimmerians.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are consequences to dying Erica's hair green. Allison joins the pack war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm so super sorry for how late this is but I've been revising for about a month now, my GCSEs are all this month really and that's why I've not been posting regularly. However, I hope to post EVERY FRIDAY/SATURDAY so feel free to comment and remind me if I don't :) Thank you so much for being patient :) I hope you enjoy the chapter :) PS thunked is not a word but it fitted and I thought it was so I kept it in there. NOT EDITED I didn't have time sorry I'm so short on time atm but again thanks for being patient and I'm incredibly sorry :) But when it's summer I can write for as long as I want and requests and fanfics and yeah cool idk :)

“ I want him out.” Erica growled from across the room, sitting on her bed, in Boyd’s lap.

Derek was stood in front of Stiles, slightly protectively, and Stiles was trying not to laugh at Erica’s hair. It looked even greener in the morning light. Cora was blinking in shock, or it could be tiredness. The door opened and Peter, Jackson and Lydia walked in. Lydia had her arms crossed, leaning her elbow against the wall, head tilted and one leg crossed over the other. She gave Erica’s hair an evaluative look before pointing to it casually.

“Girl, that is a bad hair day.”

Erica surged forward, roaring, Boyd holding her arms and keeping her back as she struggled to pounce on Stiles. She was screaming in anger.

“I WANT HIM GONE! OUT! THE LITTLE BASTARD PAINTED MY HAIR GREEN!”

“It’s also greasy now because I put some bath oils in your shampoo. I thought you’d notice that actually.” Stiles said, conversationally, not really noting the daggers Derek was glaring at him.

“Scrap that LET ME KILL HIM.” Erica roared.

Peter rolled his eyes, finally saying some words of wisdom on the matter.

“Erica, don’t overreact. It’s funny. A prank. Just like ours on Scott.”

Stiles turned sharply towards him at that, shaking his head to the side and laughing sarcastically.

“Oh no, you don’t. This? This is not a prank. This is against my human rights. This is kidnapping!”

Peter laughed lightly, ignoring Stiles’s comment as serious altogether. He turned to Derek instead, frowning at his nephew.

“How did you not wake up. You’re tied together!”

Derek visibly bit back his irritation. 

“I’m a….”

“What was that?” Peter asked, chiding him now.

“I’m a deep sleeper.” Derek snarled, earning himself a laugh from Cora.

Peter raised his eyebrows.

“Clearly.” He glanced at Stiles, his eyes evaluative as he looked him up and down. “Now what to do with you when you’re clearly capable of escaping from such a deep sleeper?”

*

An arrow shot threw the dark, barely missing Scott’s head. It sunk into the tree behind him, with a loud THUNK instead. He glanced at it, his brown eyes wide and bewildered.

“Just checking you still had some reflexes about you.” Allison’s voice said.

The fog was lifting slightly and he could making out a silhouette heading closer to him, the very image of her becoming clearer and more detailed with every step closer she took. When she was a few feet in front of him, he could finally make out her features well enough not to feel too spooked. He had been wandering around hopelessly in the depths of the darkness and the fog all night, after all. Now, she smiled shyly at him, letting him know her words were kind, only teasing. He laughed shakily, gesturing towards the tree with the arrow in.

“Your aim’s good.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at the ground, clearly feeling a little awkward.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know where Isaac is. Somewhere in the fog.”

She glanced up at that, at him mentioning the person they were both thinking about, both knowing stood between whatever chemistry they had, had lost or maybe jumbled up too much to know what was there at all anymore. To want to look at the remains. That’s just how relationships were.

“It’s lifting now. We should get going. Find Isaac.” Allison decided aloud, looking up and staring him square on.

Scott nodded hesitantly.

“And then?”

Allison cocked the bow she was still holding at her side, making its presence known more. 

“Then we kick Peter’s ass to the ground.”

*

Instinctively, Derek took a step closer to Stiles, his teeth bared slightly at Peter. The briefest of smirks crossed Peter’s features, his eyes teasing and amused as he stared at his nephew’s.

“Derek don’t overreact. I was simply going to suggest tying him to something more observant…maybe a pole?”

“Hey! I’m not a pole dancer!”

Derek, by this point, was looking quite frankly alarmed by the conversation Peter and Stiles were even initiating. 

“Why not tie him to a chair?” He growled.

Erica giggled at this, keen to get back at Stiles.

“Oh, no. It’s not tied down. He’d just pick it up and walk away.” She said, shrugging nonchalantly but not-so-discreetly grinning.

Stiles threw his arms in the air with exasperation, causing Derek to lurch and loose his balance slightly.

“Oh for God’s sake. Run, Derek, run!” He shouted, albeit it half-jokingly. 

Stiles then proceeded to start running, pulling a surprised Derek with him. They didn’t get far. Peter placed a square hand on Stiles chest, stopping him. Stiles pushed against it, and again, and then again. He stepped back, frowning, this last time and neatly, obviously side stepped Peter, looking for all the world like he was content with carrying on towards the door. Derek grabbed his collar and tugged him back, before the idiot got himself clawed in the face by an irritated pack member. 

*

“ISAAC!” 

Isaac turned, breathing fast, his head spinning. This whole thing was confusing, let alone adding a maze of a forest into the mix. At least, the fog was starting to lift now. He could see two vague outlines walking towards him.

“Scott? Allison?”

As the outlines got closer, he realised that these outlines were definitely not Scott and Allison. They were people, wearing Viking-like hats, with two horns on either side of said hat, a fur coat, some armour, a leather belt, some shorts, and wielding swords dripping with red blood. It glistened in the morning sunlight filtering through the last clouds of fog. Isaac immediately turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could, feet pounding the ground, heart hammering, the roars of these strange humans behind him. They seemed to be human at least. He ran straight into Allison, causing Scott to walk into her as she suddenly stopped. 

“Ow!” Allison glared at him, he knew she didn’t really feel that pain but was more annoyed with him.

He opened his mouth to try to explain but all that came out was a high-pitched warble. Standing behind Allison, having looked awkward for the past few minutes, Scott frowned at him.

“What?” He asked.

Isaac was saved the task of replying by a bloodthirsty cheer rising up behind him, coming closer to them from the very shadows. Allison’s eyes narrowed as Scott and  
Isaac widened with alarm. 

“Cimmerians.” She whispered, as if keying in on her new target.

*

“I still can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“Being tied to a pole by Derek Hale, your dream come true.” Erica teased.

Next to her, Jackson snorted. Lydia was frowning, sat up straight on the bed, glaring at Jackson. She was clearly not happy with this. Cora didn’t seem to notice any difference with the arrangements; she was the sort of you-don’t-bother-me-I-won’t-bother-you person. Stiles had yet to get on her wrong side. But he would, in time. She was next on the prank list after Boyd. Boyd, who was, for his part, watching all this take place warily. Peter had gone to ‘do something right for once’, whatever that was. Stiles had simply rolled his eyes at that, but now he was regretting not taking his joking run for freedom more seriously. At Erica’s comment, Derek hesitated whilst tying Stiles’s wrists together, his head ducked down, leaving Stiles with brown hair in his face and was that…blushing? Adorable. So freaking adorable. Stiles’ stomach swarmed with butterflies and Stiles laughed nervously, for fear that anybody had metaphorical x-ray vision. 

“Oh, yeah. Tied to post in a motel, the type of class I’ve always wanted.”

He wasn’t entirely sure if it counted as being tied to a pole because, essentially, it was just a post of wall that hadn’t been knocked down; maybe it had been an archway once.

“I still don’t agree with it.” Lydia said, as soon as Derek stepped back, pursing her lips.

Derek didn’t look at him, his gaze glaring at the door, as if staring at it with such anger would make it closer to him so he could leave. 

“You don’t have to.” Cora said simply, shrugging as she walked over to the mini fridge. “Peter does.”

“At least we’re not tied together twenty four seven anymore.” Stiles joked, leaning back against the post.

Derek’s head turned sharply, shooting him a quizzical look, which quickly dissipated into a hurt one, then cold ice was in his eyes. Stiles leant his head back at the sudden change, as if physically recoiling would make Derek smile. Derek never smiled.

“No. At least that responsibility’s gone.”

And ow. Okay, he got it. Responsibility. Not ‘friend’ or even ‘funny ally I like’. He guessed he deserved that one. Derek checked he was tied securely one last time, his tense body close to Stiles’s. Derek’s whole body was taunt like a wire, Stiles held his breath, waiting for him to say something, feeling his breath on his ear, but then Derek moved away and strode out the door in two seconds flat. Jackson whistled, flopping onto the bed.

“Whew. You could slice through that sexual tension with a butter knife.”

Lydia playfully swatted Jackson’s chest as Stiles gaped, appalled, at him.

*

Allison lifted her bow, aligned it perfectly, like planets in a row, before pulling the wire taunt, as close to her cheekbone as she could get it. Isaac grabbed the bow, whipping it out of her clutch. 

“Hey!” She protested.

“Those guys are wielding swords dripping with blood, carrying fog and darkness with them. We have a bow and two very confused werewolves. Let’s not do this today, shall we?”

Begrudgingly, Allison nodded and they started running, Scott glancing furtive glances back, checking the progress of the warriors. As they reached the edge of the clearing, the yelling for their deaths ringing in their ears, they saw the road again. Scott breathed a sigh of relief, as they finally had enough breath to draw easily.

“Who were those guys?” He asked no one in particular.

Allison had her hands on her knees, panting, her torso bent over.

“Ancient Greek warriors.”

As Isaac took a great gulping breath of fresh air, he contributed some sarcastic input to the conversation.

“Of course. Makes sense.”

“Actually, it does. That’s why the fog and darkness was there…” Allison trailed off at their unamused faces.

“I’m going to murder Peter.” Scott merely said.

Isaac stood to his feet fully, from where he was hunched over.

“Oh no, that’ll be me.”

Allison stalked past them, her hips swishing from side to side. She glanced back at them, smiling with her bow in her hand.

“Keep dreaming.”

*

Boyd had agreed to let him have lunch from the vending machine.

Their next mistake. Jackson was watching him suspiciously but Stiles hummed contently, pushing the buttons into the slot for a ‘Reese’. The chocolate bar thunked to the bottom, probably breaking itself already. Luckily, chocolate did not nearly make up for a substantial meal.

“Jackson, I’m out of change.” He whined.

Jackson rolled his eyes, before heading back into their room. As said before, worst kidnapper to ever kidnap. Ever. Stiles took out Boyd’s ID card, which he’d pick pocketed earlier when he’d walked past him , after they’d released him for lunch. He placed it in the slot where the empty Reese had been and beamed happily.  
Lunch was served, and wasn’t revenge a plate best served cold?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to put the next chapter up tonight but I think I could make it better, and hopefully longer to get you guys through the week, tomorrow so I'll try and do that as soon as I can. Again, really sorry I hate being inconsistent :(
> 
> Update: I'm still not ready to post the chapter so I think I will tomorrow (Monday) as I don't have an exam to revise for that night and I do have one to tonight so again apologies :( I feel really bad but these are important exams
> 
> Even sadder update: I'm trying to make this next chapter bigger (so maybe two instead) whenever I post it to make up for the lateness. I officially fail at being a constant uploader sorry :( I used to be...I used to be....


	6. A dollar is what I need.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles's prank on Boyd doesn't go down too well with Peter's pack, but that's okay he has one for Cora too, if she's feeling left out :) Stiles's and Derek's feeling towards each other switch between wanting to punch the other and wanting to make out furiously with them. There is no in-between.  
> Meanwhile, Scott, Allison and Isaac deal with the Cimmerians. NOT EDITED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sheepishly looks away*  
> Ok, so I know I've been the worst at updating in the entire world (possibly a hyperbole, possibly not) but I've been extremely busy with revision and GCSE exams and this should have been posted last Saturday so I'm sorry please don't hate me :( On a happier note, I've made this chapter longer and there will be another posted tomorrow (yay!).  
> Also, I hope you guys know your Greek mythology ;)

A minute later, Jackson came back into the corridor. He was staring at his palm, at the change there, counting it out. 

“How much do you need?”

“Just a dollar.”

Jackson nodded and handed him a dollar, abandoning the change he had been counting out, with that look of supreme concentration on his face. Stiles nodded at him. 

“Thanks.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. 

“No sarcasm? What did you do, Stilinski?” He hissed.

Stiles shrugged nonchalantly, turning instead to face the vending machine. After choosing some more substantial food, he looked at Jackson , who had been waiting impatiently with his arms crossed the entire time, out of the corner of his eyes.

“Do you think Boyd would like a Reese?”

Jackson squinted at him, his right eye twitching. He stepped closer to the vending machine and Stiles held his breath, waiting for the reaction. Jackson stared at Boyd’s ID card with such a venomous glare, he looked like it had personally offended him.

“STILINSKI!” He half growled, half roared.

It did not go unheard. The moment he had said it, Erica, Boyd, Lydia and Cora came rushing into the corridor. 

“What’s wrong, what’s happened?” Lydia asked, looking between the two of them and frowning.

“We thought he’d escaped.” Erica snarled in accusation at Jackson.

Jackson ignored her, motioning to Boyd with one pointed arm. 

“All I’m saying is, he’s not going to like this.”

Boyd didn’t say anything, just walked closer to the vending machine and peered in at his ID card. He turned his head, slowly, to glare at Stiles. Stiles  
smirked.

“You know, I have a technique.” He said, stepping forward and gesturing with his hands that he had a point. “I usually, wrap my arms around the machine, face squashed on the glass, and try to move so the chocolate-”

Boyd ignored him, punching through the glass instead, not even looking like it hurt him and not dropping his death glare to Stiles whilst he did.

“You know, last time you did that you were possessed, right?” Stiles asked.

Behind Boyd, leaning against the wall and glaring at him, her hair still a bright greasy green, Erica roared at him. Stiles merely laughed. The sound of heavy footsteps, Derek’s, cut into his laughter. Wasn’t it weird that he knew they were Derek’s? He’d clearly been kidnapped for way too long if he could distinguish his “kidnappers” by their footsteps.

As soon as Derek had finished ascending the stairs, he took three long strides towards Stiles, reaching him in one quickening heartbeat. He was suddenly there, in his face, Derek’s eyes glowing ice blue, his hand gripping Stiles’s forearm tightly. 

“Hey, man. Jeez! Let go will you? It was a prank.”

Stiles said defensively, shrugging his shoulders and, when Derek didn’t so much as blink in remorse, he looked pointedly at his forearm, now in a death-like vice thanks to Derek. Whilst Stiles was busy looking at said offended forearm, Derek slipped a handcuff on him in one smooth motion. 

“Hey! Not fair!” Stiles protested, almost spluttering.

Derek grinned and Stiles could tell he was enjoying this. Stiles glared at him in retaliation. Erica and Jackson were both laughing but Boyd was remaining strangely reserved and quiet in his opinions, considering he was the one who’d fallen prey to Stiles’s pranking this time round. Stomping upstairs announced a new arrival. The young woman behind the desk was holding some clean bathroom towels. She looked furious. 

“Would you keep it down? We do have other guests here, you know? They're trying to sleep. Oh my god.” She flung her arm out towards the vending machine and let it flop back down at her side. “What the hell did you do to our vending machine? Did it personally offend you or something?”

She glared at them all, both hands on her hip, the towels left forgotten on the floor. Derek was the first one of them to recover, and did he do so in style. Stiles silently fumed, watching him positively glide smoothly over to the young woman. He grinned at her, and if the gesture was sending shivers down Stiles’s spine, he couldn’t imagine what the poor girl was feeling. Derek was bitter, but he was also hot and charming. 

“Sorry, Rachel, is it?” His eyes glided over her name tag. “There was a misunderstanding, one of my friend’s couldn’t get his snack, which he paid for. You know how annoying those things can be.”

Her eyes slid over the broken glass of the vending machine and landed on Derek’s face, she seemed to be unconsciously biting her lip. Derek stepped forward again, only an inch or so, just so that he was closer, his legs on either side of her left one, only a few centimetres keeping them apart.  
Stiles glared at Derek’s back, realising that he was distracting her so the others could creep away, Stiles presumed into Peter’s room but surely he could do so in a way that wasn’t so…infuriating? He wanted to punch Derek, he hadn’t finished handcuffing him so in theory he could, but it would be like punching a brick wall and therefore an exercise in futility. Yet, strangely, he couldn’t help but want to be close to Derek like that...he’d known Derek longer, seen Derek at his ups and downs, seen his bulging muscles the entire way through that spiritual journey. Why should this ‘Rachel’ suddenly get Derek’s attention? All she’d done was complain about a vending machine.

Stiles grinned as she looked past Derek’s shoulder, at him. He raised his handcuffed hand, arm stretching into the air, one handcuff dangling limply, the metal glinting in the afternoon light.

“Wanna join us?” He asked, grinning.

“NO!”

Derek turned his head slowly, glaring at Stiles, as if he could cover a hand over Stiles’s mouth just by looking at it.

“You guys are officially weird. And in a motel!” 

She shook her head, tilting it to consider Derek, a fake smile plastered on her face in the universal ‘bitch please’ gesture. 

“I thought you at least had some class.” She looked Derek up and down, eyes lingering just a second too long on his biceps. “I guess I was wrong.”

With that, she picked up the towels and flaunted out of the room, pushing the door to another motel room open, leaving it to swing and them in stunned silence. Derek was the first to recover. He crossed the distance between them in two large strides, his face mere inches from Stiles’s, his eyes searching Stiles’s furiously. Stiles didn’t know for what but he seemed to find it because the next thing he knew, Derek grabbed his wrist and was tugging him along to their motel room. He closed the door and continued to drag Stiles along by the wrist.

“Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.” Stiles whined.

Derek didn’t comment, the only thing he did to react and acknowledge that Stiles had spoken was to tie him securely to the post by handcuffing Stiles’s wrist together around it. He pulled back, staring at Stiles with a look of contempt and satisfaction in his eyes.

“There. You’re not going to escape by pranking everyone.”

Stiles, appalled, opened his mouth to argue but found, for once, no words came out so closed it promptly, for fear of looking like an idiot.

“I know exactly what you were trying to do.” Derek growled in his ear.

And weirdly, Stiles found that attractive. A shiver ran down his spine, he licked his dry lips, glaring straight back at Derek, their gazes locked and both as furious as the other. 

“Why don’t you take a step closer so I can knee you in the balls for being such a prick?”

The corners of Derek’s lips tugged upwards at that and, surprisingly, he complied. He stepped closer, so that there was a fraction of an inch between them. It felt as if electricity was charging the room, crackling between their chests, until one of them lit the spark. Even Derek’s eyes were grinning as he studied Stiles’s face for his reaction. Stiles guessed it was up to him to be the spark. Now he had two options, either knee Derek in the balls or-no, there was only really that option. Derek clamped a hand down on Stiles’s knee before it even reach Derek’s thigh. Anger sparked in Stiles’s eyes and amusement in Derek’s, so much so that Stiles couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped his lips. Derek never looked so happy as to when he was annoying him. Derek smiled softly at that, his hand moving up Stiles’s thigh from his knee, fingers trailing across the material of Stiles’s jeans, smoothing back and forth across Stiles’s hipbone. Stiles crushed Derek’s lips, taking this as permission to do so, and Derek teased him, his tongue flicking in and out of Stiles’s mouth, travelling along his lower lip and biting down. Stiles bit back a moan.

“It’s not fair, I can’t pull you closer.” Stiles said, his tone angry.

Derek allowed that soft smile into his expression again.

“Needy.” He chided.

Stiles glared harder at him, making Derek bit down on an actual, physical smile. Derek moved forward, closing what little room was between them and moving his hands up the outline of Stiles’s body, until they reached his face, one hand resting on Stiles’s cheek, his fingertips lost in Stiles’s messy brown hair, and the other lightly touching his neck. He leaned forward and gently brushed their lips together, still teasing, until Stiles actually did knee him in the balls. Derek clamped two hands over the injured area, roaring at him. Stiles shrugged.

“You either kiss me or you don’t, hotshot.”

“Hotshot? Who even says things like that anymore Stiles?” he growled, from where he was doubled over, wearing a look of pain that rivalled Jackson’s concentration face.

The door flung open and Peter, Jackson and Erica strode into the room. Stiles was rather hoping for Lydia and Boyd instead. These people were not his biggest fans at the moment. Come to think of it, even Cora’s blunt attitude would have been more favourable.

“What happened?” Peter asked quickly.

He glanced once around the room, taking in the scene of his nephew doubled over in pain, clutching his privates, and Stiles handcuffed to the post, with an expression of contentment and idleness. Immediately, Derek flung an arm out to where Stiles was, indicating Stiles was the root cause of the problem.

“He kneed me in the balls!”

Jackson stepped forward, attempting to be threatening but Stiles wasn’t impressed with werewolf muchoness anymore, unless it was from a rival pack.

“What? Stealing Boyd’s identity card and putting it in a vending machine wasn’t enough for you?”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest that actually Derek was the one with the problem, thank you very much, but closed it. Derek was raising his head slightly, so only Stiles would see his expression and the eyebrows that he raised in challenge. Astounded, Stiles searched for words but couldn’t find any, opening and closing his mouth, hoping words would form but to no avail, looking for all the world like a flabbergasted fish. Erica shook her head in disgust, walking over to Derek and helping him to stand from his crouch. She never took her eyes off Stiles.

“Sick bastard.” She growled, eyes full of disdain. 

Stiles burst out laughing, much to their surprise. Once he had stopped laughing as loudly, in between laughs, he tried to tell them what was so funny. He gestured to his own hair, as if cluing Erica in to her own currently being the wrong shade.

“I’m sorry.” He said, still grinning. “It’s just I can’t take you seriously with the green hair.”

Erica moved forward a step, ready to attack him with her claws but Peter was there. He glided himself back into the forefront of the scene, his footsteps slow and deliberate as they walked around the post. Derek straightened up, eyes alert, forcing his instinctive growl not to rise in his throat. Stiles turned his head to the side, to follow Peter’s movement and suddenly the alpha werewolf was there, face inches from his own. Peter dragged his extended fingernail down Stiles’s face, small scratch forming, breaking just above the skin so a drop of red blood slid down his cheek. Derek’s whole body was taunt like a wire, his eyes glaring at that one drop of blood.

“I’ve already dealt with Scott. But what about you? We need to send him a message, that was the whole idea. So, the real question is: do we turn you or do we hurt you?”

“Or do we text Scott to send him this message like normal people?”

Peter’s eyes turned red slowly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“But we’re wolves.”

*

When they finally reached the road, Scott, Allison and Isaac all bent on their knees, taking gasping breaths of air. The Cimmerians still had not stopped chasing them. 

“Maybe we should talk to them.” Scott reasoned, earning himself a blithering stare from Allison and an incredulous one from Isaac. 

“Or maybe we should shoot them?” Allison implored, rather sarcastically, Scott thought.

Isaac nodded to Allison.

“Yes. That. Her.” He straightened up more, continuing to make more sense as he caught his breath. “I’m with her.”

Scott rolled his eyes, some things he had learnt from Derek. He was going to ignore both of their advice anyway and try to talk to the Cimmerians, reason with them, nobody had to die. After all, some things Derek couldn’t teach him, no matter how much he tried.

Nodding once to himself, Scott decisively turned on his heel, only to walk straight into a large chest, the size of a chest of drawers or small bookshelf. He stumbled backwards, raising a hand to shield himself from the glare of the midday sun.

It was a Cimmerian. Next to him, were his brethren. 

“We were just going to talk to you.” Scott said, sheepishly, his voice wobbling a bit with nerves.

* 

“There’s a reason I chose Scott’s pack, you know.” Stiles said, glaring at Peter.

“Reason being?” Peter implored, to all intents and purposes, being polite.

“You’re a psychopath.” 

“It’s like I told Derek, I’m not a total psychopath.”

“We’re not hurting or turning him.” Derek cut in sharply.

Peter glanced quizzically at him, tilting his head, still too close to Stiles for Derek’s liking. Close enough to lash out a claw, or bite into the pale skin, the watercolour-like veins there, and turn him.

“Both? I have to say, I didn’t think you were one for such violence-”

“Derek’s right, that’s too far.” Erica inputted, her face had drained of all colour and the paleness made a stark contrast to her green hair, Stiles thought.  
Jackson numbly nodded along in agreement. Peter rolled his eyes, exasperated that his pack were all such idiots. 

“Well we can’t kidnap a person and not follow through on the intended threat. How would you be respected?”

“A lot more if you didn’t hurt or turn them.” Derek dead-panned. “He’s a kid.” He added quietly.

Peter shrugged his shoulders, gesturing to Erica and Jackson.

“A bit rich, dear nephew, coming from you.” Peter tilted his head, to consider Stiles with cold eyes. “Anyway, it’s not like I haven’t asked him before. He almost agreed.”

“Almost is never enough.” Derek growled, failing to hide his fury at Stiles.

Stiles liked to think it was the glare that gave Derek away and not the waves of pure hostility rolling off of the werewolf.

“Are you aware you’re quoting Arianna Grande?” Stiles asked, smirking to make light of the situation.

“STILES, THIS ISN’T A GAME!” Derek roared.

*

The Cimmerians roared a battle cry in union, in some ancient language, which had both Isaac and Scott frowning in confusion. How were they meant to reason with an enemy who didn’t speak the same language as them? Isaac looked at Scott pointedly, as if to prove his point, but Scott realised that the Cimmerians were distracted. By Allison. On the phone. To Lydia.

“Allison!” Scott hissed at her, almost like a stage whisper.

Allison covered her hand over the receiver, looking distracted herself, as she glanced up at Scott, Isaac and the army of Cimmerians, all of whom were looking at her with frowns on their faces.

“What? Lydia says Stiles is in trouble. Like real trouble. Peter’s talking about turning or hurting him. She’s listening through the door.”

A dark, distant look had passed over each and every one of the Cimmerians’s faces. Allison, Scott and Isaac ignored them.

“Get Lydia to join us.” Scott instructed.

Allison spoke frantically into the speaker, hanging up and turning to them to say

“She’s stepping out of neutral.”

The Cimmerian who Scott had bumped into turned his head, ever-so-slowly, towards Allison.

“Lydia will fight us?”

Allison nodded, her lips pursed in anger, raising the bow in her hand, keeping her other hand crossed across her waist.

“That’s right.” She threatened. 

The Cimmerian beamed, a whole-hearted beam that spread across his face like butter. Immediately, he turned towards the army of Cimmerians who stood, waiting for him to translate Allison’s words, behind him.

He roared the news at them. 

An answering roar to rival a football stadium echoed back.

Allison, Scott and Isaac exchanged worried glances.  
*

The room descended into hostile silence, with both Derek and Stiles glaring at each other and seething into the room. Thankfully, Cora burst into the room, saving them all from Stiles’s answering shout.

“It’s Lydia. She’s gone.”

Immediately, Jackson turned to look at Cora, panic in his eyes.

“What? Who took her?”

“No, I think she’s escaped.”

Peter stepped forward, away from Stiles.

“What do you mean ‘escaped’?”

“Look it up in the dictionary, doofus.” Stiles snapped, too annoyed with werewolf theatrics and the Peter’s importance to be in control.

To his surprise, Stiles heard a reluctant scoff, but a scoff that showed he appreciated his humour all the same, from Derek. The werewolves all exited the room, locking it behind them. Derek was the only one to give Stiles a glance as he left, and as his eyes bore into Stiles’s brown ones, they seemed to say ‘I’m with you. I’ll help you’ more than any one thought of Stiles’s floating around in his head right now.

As soon as Derek closed the door, the air that seemed like fragile glass shattered in Stiles’s ears and he began on prank number four. Cora’s turn. It didn’t take him long to wriggle his way out of the handcuffs, using the safety pin he always carried. Again, he wasn’t the Sheriff’s son for nothing. It was frankly insulting that they thought this would imprison him.

Now, all he needed was Cora’s phone, hopefully ten minutes and preferably a hundred elastic bands.


	7. It's your call.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's one word on everyone's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah here is the update (on time woo!). Thanks for the awesome comments! It really does make me ten thousand times happier to face the day :) I usually post before I go to bed and read my comments in the morning but the first one I opened in email today was negativity and not that constructive, I agreed one of the points was fair but the rest wasn't needed so please can you not post that on my fic? I write because I enjoy writing, I don't write because it has to be exactly to everyone's taste because that would be impossible so if you don't like it please don't comment, it's not nice to start the day like that especially with exams at the moment. Thanks! xoxox

Cora and Derek were the ones who walked into the room first, Derek following as Cora searched for her phone, talking behind her shoulder to him at a rapid speed the whole way. Derek nodded, slowly not commenting, he was looking at Stiles, who was still handcuffed to the post, his head lolling on his shoulder, probably asleep. Trust him to sleep in any position.

For his part, Stiles was actually feigning sleep like he used to do when he was four years old and his parents would check in on him. He thought it was too late to escape without punishment now, Cora and Derek came back too quickly. Besides, his side still hurt from where Peter clawed it a few days ago. He might not make it that far without getting attacked again, or his side might hurt too much if he strained it by leaping those metaphorical fences to freedom. 

“His dad’s on his way back from a convention. Lydia left a note. Says the Sheriff’s getting tired of Scott not finding his son, that the stupid pack war has gone on long enough and now it’s getting too serious.”

Cora nodded quickly, agreeing with that. She replied to Derek, but whilst lifting a pillow and searching underneath it.

“That’s good. Peter’s took this too far. It’s meant to be a joke!”

Derek nodded too, his eyes distant, focusing on space and time. 

“I don’t think it ever was to Peter. He wants them in his pack.”

“Well, half the pack doesn’t anymore.” Cora snapped back, infuriated as the quilt wasn’t harbouring her phone either.

Derek nodded again, his eyes glazing over to Stiles, frowning at him.

“That’s what he wants.”

“What, Peter? Derek, have you been listening to anything I’ve said for the past three minutes?” 

Before Derek could respond, she lifted up the whole mattress, biceps bulging, and flung it back down on the bed board in frustration and pent up anger. 

“ARGH! Where is it?”

Derek caught her wrist, looked comfortingly into her eyes.

“Cora, what have you lost?”

Stiles pressed the call button on his phone, which he was holding behind his back, between his handcuffed hands. An answering ring sounded throughout the room, Cora’s head snapped up to attention, her eyes suddenly alert.

“My phone!”

*

Lydia walked through the thin lining of trees towards them, her hips swaying, dressed in fashionable high-waisted shorts and a casual blouse. Allison noticed Lydia’s red lipstick, the swish of her strawberry blonde hair in the sunlight, noticing how her friend flicked a strand off her shoulder, and smiled. Lydia was going to own these Cimmerians. Allison had no idea how. It would just happen.

“Which one of you losers wanted to see me?” Lydia rolled her eyes, before glancing the entire Cimmerian army up and down with obvious distaste.

“You are not Lydia.” The main spokesman for the Cimmerians said.

Lydia rolled her eyes again, pushing her lips together, almost like a duck-face.

“Uh yeah. I am.”

“Alyattes of Lydia defeated us. We were written out of history. Our master, he made a deal so we would once again get to fight Lydia.”

He looked at Lydia with such cold depth in his eyes; she couldn’t help but repress a shudder.

“But you are no country.”

Isaac stepped forward, grey scarf billowing in the wind.

“Now hold on a minute, she may be no country but you’ve come all this way, I take it? Well…” Isaac glanced back at Scott, who looked bewildered at him. “…my good friend here wanted to speak to you.”

The main spokesman of the Cimmerians turned his head, slowly, to give Scott his full, undivided attention. Scott glared a little at Isaac before clearing his throat nervously, and turning his head so he was looking back at the Cimmerian. The metal Viking-like helmet was slightly off-putting.

“We, uh, need to know who your master is. Then, of course, feel free to leave.” He added, as a second thought: “Peacefully.”

*  
Cora launched herself into space, jumping into thin air and pouncing on the bedside table. She reached an outstretched arm and extended her claws to snatch her phone from the gap behind the bedside table. She held it aloft in the air, triumphantly, but her smile soon fell.

There were rubber bands all over it, criss-crossing each other, making it impossible to turn off the call and stop the phone from ringing. She figured it would just go to answer phone, which it did, but she didn’t figure that Stiles would then call the phone again from his own mobile, which was hidden behind his back. 

“Make it stop ringing!” She roared at Derek, whose eyes instantly flitted to Stiles.

Cora started to jab at the buttons, what she thought they were because too many elastic bands were covering them, like an unsolvable, infuriating grid. 

“ARGH!” She yelled again.

She slammed the phone into the floorboards and smashed it again and again and again, until it resembled nothing more than a pulp of metal. Derek wordlessly held out his own phone. She stared at it, like it had personally offended her.

“Here, use my phone to call Lydia.” He said in a careful, quiet voice, as if not to wake a dragon.

“STILES! WHEN WILL YOU STOP WITH THE FREAKING PRANKS?!” She yelled.

*

From Peter, Jackson and Lydia’s room, Erica looked towards the door. Peter, Jackson and Boyd all studied it warily too, as if at any moment a flood would knock the door down and wash them all away, swept away with the dangerous current, caught in the flow, up to their necks in the high tide. 

After a moment of silence, with no news of Stiles escaping, no Derek or Cora rushing into the room for help, Erica broke the silence. She rolled her eyes.

“The idiot’s done it again, hasn’t he?”

*  
By the edge of the highway road, Allison, Lydia, Isaac and Scott waited with baited breath for the answer. Although, Lydia thought she knew already. Who else could be the master of a Cimmerian army? Who else would want to be responsible for such chaos? 

The Cimmerian opened his mouth to answer…

*  
Stiles didn’t respond to Cora’s shout of rage, except to press the call button again on his phone, making the remains of hers vibrate on the floor. Slowly, warily, she crouched down to pick up the shell of metal casing that was still intact. She lifted it to her ear.

He spoke a single word, a name, at the same time that the Cimmerian, miles away and facing four worried, frowning teenagers, did the same.

“Peter.”


	8. Prank for Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would have been uploaded earlier today but I accidentally downloaded a Trojan to my laptop, which my security straight away alerted to me and said it was quarantined, but I had to delete a programme that had been added and run a full scan (that was the part that took AGES I was restless to write!). I know technically it's Tuesday but it's just gone midnight and I'm going to sleep after posting this. Anyway, here it is- hope you enjoy the last chapter!

Cora and Derek both crossed their arms, with unimpressed expressions on their faces. Once again, Stiles could see that they were related.

“What? I can’t be a bit theatrical but you can smash your phone in anger?” Stiles scoffed defensively.

At the same time, they both said:

“We want in.”

*

Peter swagged into the room. Stiles’s brain tried and failed to associate his walk with any other descriptive word. Stiles looked to the side, at Derek, and raised his eyebrows like he was demanding answers. Derek shook his head and had to physically walk away, over to the window to keep from laughing.

“I’ve decided turning you is probably more beneficial for my pack. Scott will join because you two seem to be attached at the hip.”

Peter paused, hovering on Stiles’s shoulder, his head tilted at just the right angle to bite one’s neck. Peter’s eyes were practically glittering, Stiles thought it was possibly with madness. He tried not to show this, clearing his throat with the obvious intention of announcing something.

“I want to join your pack too.”

Peter narrowed his eyes.

“You do?” He asked suspiciously.

Stiles nodded enthusiastically, his eyes automatically darting to Derek, who had his back to the situation, for help.

“I mean it’s only you I don’t trust but the other betas seem to be fine with having that exact problem with their alpha.”

Peter didn’t miss Stiles’s look to Derek. But boy, did he misinterpret it.

“Oh. I see.” Peter smiled knowingly. “You could just be mates and still human, you know.”

Peter paused, gauging Stiles’s reaction, which was to tense in alarm. Peter dragged his elongated fingernail down the pale skin of Stiles’s neck. Stiles stared straight ahead, like he wasn’t listening to the words Peter was saying.

“But then, I don’t think Scott would get quite the same impression. Turning you would be more...dramatic.”

When Peter said the last word, he let the syllables linger in the air, spoke them softly like a snake. Derek finally turned around to face the conversation, appearing mildly interested to Peter but giving Stiles such a demanding glare that he knew they were both thinking of the same thing, they were running out of time to stall for Cora to-

-come bursting through the door with Lydia. Now, it was Peter’s turn to seem mildly surprised.

“Ah, Lydia, darling, you’re just in time.”

He turned politely, or falsely, depending on your view, to address Cora.

“Thank you for bringing her here.”

“It’s not just her she brought here.” A familiar tone announced.

Standing in the doorway, their poses worthy of a bunch of badass superheroes, was Scott, Allison and Isaac. Initially, relief and excitement coursed through Stiles’s veins at the sight of his best friends. His pack.

But then disappointment…so raw and pure, scraped his heart clean, leaving it almost empty except for those robotic pumps of blood every tenth of a second.

And he realised something.

He didn’t want to prove just Peter wrong. He wanted to prove them wrong too. Because why should the one person in the room who only possess intelligent, compassionate human nature, with no hidden archery talents, concert-mad scream or wolfish antics, be the princess every time?

No. No, uh. Not today. Not again.

Peter’s snarl of anger pulled Stiles out of his own determined thoughts.

“You didn’t find him! You didn’t win this game. I told Stiles, at the start of all this havoc, you know, that you wouldn’t find him. That he was the one in your little-and it really is little, isn’t it?- pack who solved everything. And now guess who’s about to get turned?” Peter asked, talking almost conversationally.

He tilted his chin, teeth grazing the skin of the hollow in between Stiles’s neck and collarbone. Scott took an involuntary step forward in shock and horror.

“No.” He didn’t seem to realise he was saying the words.

He was just staring hopelessly at Stiles’s neck, his eyes darting to Stiles’s, perhaps searching them and hoping for some forgiveness. Stiles was glad he did. He wanted Scott not to panic, and he wanted Scott to know it was only because of himself now that he was going to win this game.

Maybe Derek too, who after receiving a discreet nod from Stiles, was doing his best to inconspicuously, casually ghost over to the emergency exit door in the room.

Stiles turned his head slightly, to catch Peter’s red eyes, as the alpha dipped his head in the belief he was about to gain another beta, that he had played a game of chess that nobody could solve. But Stiles could. He knew it, so he grinned impishly at Peter, who only had enough time to flash startled eyes back. Then, Stiles did as humans do when angered. He’d even had a practise run with Derek.

He kneed Peter in the balls.

The alpha only had time to yell out and double over in pain before Derek opened the emergency door and Stiles beamed, seeing that Cora had carried out the prank precisely as he’d asked. He nodded at them, for the benefit of Peter, who was still facing the floor as he was doubled over in pain, he called out contently.

“Here come the Cimmerians!”

“Master, you lied. No Lydia. No being written back into history. Only tricks.” The main spokesman of the Cimmerians stated in a dead-pan voice.

Then, the stampede proceeded. Derek held the door open for them, nodding as they entered, with an expression of vague amusement on his face, his mouth lifting at the corners. Stiles had never seen Peter run so fast, except normally in a fight. Allison, Scott, Isaac, Lydia and Cora didn’t even try to stop him, knowing the Cimmerians wouldn’t appreciate the gesture and could get their revenge on Peter without their help anyway.

Derek walked over, leisurely considering his uncle’s screams for them to help were not far off, to Stiles and released him from the handcuffs tying him to the post.

“Thanks.” Stiles said, rubbing his wrists but smiling at Derek.

“I thought you might want to see this. It was your idea, after all.” Derek shrugged.

They walked to the car park outside, watching with mild interest as Peter found his currently-covered-in-bubble-wrap car. Cora had instructions to bubble-wrap the car too. Luckily, the other pack members, Jackson, Erica and Boyd, had been preoccupied with guarding Stiles, like Stiles had hoped. Muttering curses, Peter struggled to open the car door handle through all the wall of pure bubble wrap on his car. Well, technically he’d driven over in Jackson’s. So this was even better, as far as Stiles was concerned. The Cimmerians were drawing ever closer, their movements vaguely resembling the alien toys in Toy Story.

Allison, Scott, Isaac and Lydia stood in the doorway laughing, Isaac holding his side where he had a stitch. As Peter’s face gradually shrank from their view to be replaced with a dozen bobbling Cimmerian heads, Stiles pulled the not-so-conspicuous lever he had hidden in the front of the motel garden, in the green shrubbery and bushes, when Jackson had taken the turn of guard-duty for the toilet. He’d not had much time to install it, so it was surprising for both him and Peter when the lever triggered a vat of cream to be dumped on Peter by an over-hanging tree. The Cimmerians seemed a little affronted to be caught in the middle of such a prank but most of them simply licked the cream off their helmets, wearing expressions of wonder and expressing in some other language their appreciation for the full-fat produce.

“STILES!” Cora and Derek both hissed.

“What?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms over his chest in the universal symbol of defence.

“You said you wouldn’t risk the vat of cream idea!”

“Relax, I waited until it was Jackson’s turn.”

“Hey!” Jackson’s familiar unimpressed tones called indignantly.

They all looked, to see Boyd, Erica and Jackson holding armfuls of food shopping and looking thoroughly shocked at the scene of Peter being attacked by a small army of ancient warriors.

At that moment, the young woman from the desk, whom they had acquainted themselves with over the past few days, walked through the crowd of people/werewolves/banshee at the front door of the motel, with her head in her hands.

“You are all so weird. Just get out of the motel! All of you!”

She pointed a shaking hand at Derek.

“No charming your way out of this one.”

“I wasn’t planning to charm _you.”_ Derek said pointedly, before turning to Stiles and brushing their lips together.

Derek was cupping his jaw and cheek with one hand and kissing him with all the spontaneity and muscles Stiles appreciates in a man, hastily deepening their kiss so he wasn’t in any danger of suffering the same fate as Peter. He almost fell with Stiles back against the wall, his hands resting on Stiles’s hips, rubbing the exposed skin there from where Stiles’s t-shirt had rucked up. When they pulled away, it was to find the faces of the packs. And if Scott’s expression was of surprise, Stiles must have looked dumbfounded.

Derek leant their foreheads together, fluffy brown hair mixing with styled dark hair.

“I call a truce.” Derek smiled.

“I call shotgun.” Stiles replied, grinning.

Derek laughed, rolling his eyes. Yes, Derek Hale _freaking_ laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting, I didn't expect this crazily good support, thank you so much :) If you want something else funny to read then I've also written an Adult Wolves series, that was the same case as this actually haha (being that it had a good response and I'd started writing it for fun, not really planning it so much). Otherwise, thanks for the guidance and support chums! xoxo
> 
> :)
> 
> Update: would you guys like an Epilogue to sort of sum everything up or do you want me to just leave the fic as it is? :) It's your call, I'm happy both ways :)
> 
> Even updater update? : So, I've decided to write said epilogue ^ because most of you seemed to want that, and that's what I feel would be best too, as I think the story needs to draw to a definite close. I would have uploaded it tonight but my revision for my exam tomorrow took longer than I thought! So, I have one more scene to write and then I will post it eep :)


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack decisions are, uh decided.  
> Sterek ensues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so I went with the majority of people who wanted an epilogue (sorry to those who wanted more chapters!) because I agreed this is where I feel the story should end so ta dah :) BUT I know everyone has their own expectations and hopes for fanfiction when they read some so this may not be exactly what everybody wants but this is how it played out in my head :)  
> PS I'm sorry I'm so bad at summaries, I know.

Scott was the one who broke the moment, practically risking his own life by shouldering Derek out of the way to give Stiles a bro-hug. They clapped each other’s backs a few times, all masculinity, but they held on tightly, fiercely even, which showed each other that they didn’t want to let go of the other again.

“We’re taking you home, bud. And we’re just going to eat takeaway and play Call Of Duty. No more pack wars.” Scott promised, beaming at his best friend.

“Well, I was thinking…”Stiles’s eyes flitted towards Derek.

Scott caught the look and, somewhat abashedly, cottoned on, briefly looking hurt before giving his friend a knowing look, despite the blush that accompanied such a look.

“Oh. Yeah, or we can just meet up tomorrow? You’re probably just wanting your bed right now, huh?”

“Scott you are the least subtle person to ever try being subtle!” Stiles flapped his arms about. 

Scott’s ridiculously warm, friendly eyes were laughing at him.

“Anyway,” He shrugged, carrying on. “I didn’t mean that. I meant, well, what about the packs? Derek and you are in different ones.”

That’s when Derek’s arms slid around his waist, causing Stiles to jump before relaxing at the familiar scent of Derek. The leather, the car fuel, the musty smell of rain on dampened trees, like Derek had just been running through Beacon Hills woods.

“I think we’ll all be investing in Scott’s, arguably, better alpha qualities than Peter’s.”

Stiles turned to face him, not realising Derek’s head was on his shoulder already. Their faces were inches apart. 

“But he’s your uncle?”

“And still slightly evil, psychotic, whatever you want to call it. You’re my mate.”

A shiver ran down Stiles spine and he let himself fall deeper into Derek’s arms, relaxing against his impressively built torso. Mate. He liked the sound of that. Plenty of chances to mock by using a-

“Don’t even think of using an Australian accent.” Derek reprimanded, as if reading his thoughts.

Stiles opened his mouth to protest before he realised that Isaac, Allison and Lydia were all hovering near them. He turned his head, to look at them. 

“Only you could fall in love with your ‘kidnapper’. And I use that term very loosely. Don’t think I couldn’t hear that kiss.” Lydia raised her eyebrows mock-judgingly, giving Stiles a very stern look.

Stiles gaped.

“What? Were you listening at the door or something?” He protested.

“A girl has her ways.” Lydia said all-knowingly.

“That she does.” Allison agreed, laughing. “But don’t ever force me to help these idiots out again, we always end up in some near-death experience.”

“It was VERY thick fog, okay?” Isaac protested, most of his sentence spoken almost shyly.

Behind them, Jackson snorted. Isaac turned to glare at him.

“Like you could do better, we saw those scorch marks and the burning smell. He hijacked your car, didn’t he?” Isaac inquired, tilting his head at Jackson and jerking a thumb back to indicate he meant Stiles.

Jackson spluttered. Lydia patted him consolingly on the shoulder.

“It’s okay, honey. We all know words are never your strong point.” She teased, lips quirking upwards, eyes challenging him.

Jackson’s eye physically appeared to twitch in irritation but he squeezed her shoulder and laughed it off.

“Oh, Lydia, at least I don’t melt down when I don’t get my daily lip-glosses.”

“Those were new! And I didn’t plan in getting caught up in the whole stupid let’s-kidnap-Stiles prank!”

“It’s not a prank! It’s against human rights!” Stiles butted in.

Lydia flicked her hair, as if to reiterate her point.

“There. That. Exactly.”

Jackson just held his head in his hands. Meanwhile, Peter and the Cimmerians’ current predicament was escalating rapidly. Peter had, seemingly, abandoned all hope of entering his car and driving away so decided to shift to alpha form. He roared at them, his eyes glaring red, fangs and claws elongated. This did not appear to deter them in the slightest. 

“Should we, er, help-?” Boyd began, still holding a bag of groceries in each hand.

Erica, who stood next to him carrying some grocery bags as well, continued to stare at Peter desperately trying to fend the Cimmerians off. After a few seconds, where both packs watched the scene unfold but nobody said anything, Erica replied.

“No.” She said sharply. And then, smiling. “No, I think our alpha can handle this on his own.”

“Your alpha, is he?” Scott asked her, voice quiet, only honest curiosity in his tone.

She appraised him for a moment, not breaking eye contact, before finally speaking.

“No. I suppose he’s not.” She allowed, ignoring Scott’s face breaking into a huge grin, as she took a small step towards him.

“NO!” Peter roared.

However, the rest of what he was trying to say was drowned out by his own screams, as the Cimmerians at last decided that they should stop aiming to hurt, and start aiming to kill. Peter took one look at his pack, torn between the want to keep his pack and the need to run for his life. 

“Don’t you dare!” He fought to be heard over the angry yells of the Cimmerians.

Erica shrugged, like it didn’t matter. Boyd held his gaze, then let it slide over to Erica, following her as she walked towards Scott, both of them stepping in line to switch alliances. 

“JACKSON!” Peter hissed, eyes preying on the confused teen. “Don’t even think about it.”

“That’s not a command, so…” Jackson trailed off, moving from where he was leant on the wall to stand behind Boyd in the wait for Scott. 

Peter opened his mouth to snap at him that, yes, it was a command, but his words were drowned out by the Cimmerians as they roared, the closet swiping something that looked vaguely similar to a machete sideways through the air with brutal force, causing Peter to concentrate on ducking so he didn’t end up beheaded. This fight was growing tiresome yet the Cimmerians had still cornered him and seemed intent on revenge. Peter cursed himself for not fooling them well enough with his ‘Lydia’ trick. But, he reflected, he hadn’t considered what would happen if Lydia had actually ran off to meet them. His eyes switched to Derek’s, cutting a path through the air to burn like lasers into his.

“Derek!” He said, albeit slightly desperately. “My dear nephew, you’ll stay with me won’t you? Stay with someone you have a real bond to.” He tried to bite down his sarcasm on his first three words, but he knew he’d failed in doing so.

Whilst Derek took his time pondering his answer, a twinkle of dark humour in his eyes and his lips turning up at the corners, Peter dodged, ducked and darted away from every swipe, weapon and fist the Cimmerians threw at him. One even ran at Peter with his hat, hoping the horns would pierce the werewolf’s skin.

Derek’s arms tightened possessively around Stiles’s waist, as the look of mocking amusement slipped from his face.

“I am with someone I have a real bond to.” He glanced at Stiles, pressed his lips to the teen’s forehead.

Stiles stared straight back at him, his hazel brown eyes all that Derek could see, despite his floundering uncle in the background. 

“I AM THE ALPHA!” Peter screeched.

“Not anymore.” Scott said quietly, his words crediting far more attention than Peter’s crazed screeching had. 

They all turned to look at him. Well, Allison, Lydia and Stiles did anyway. Derek, Boyd, Erica, Isaac and even Jackson had fallen to their knees in submission to the red glowing eyes before them. Their new, true alpha. Stiles sneaked a look at Derek, who had his head bowed like the others and was knelt on one knee. Now, Stiles could have seized the perfect opportunity to make a joking comment about Derek purposing but he was content simply to marvel at him. The strong grace, the look of concentration and acceptance, like maybe this was the answer he’d been searching for, on his face, the stance so similar to a valiant knight’s. And then, Derek flicked his eyes towards him, ice blue eyes freezing Stiles to the spot as they laughed at him from the corner of Derek’s eye. Stiles was half tempted to push Derek over, see if his werewolf reflexes were still good enough not to topple on the floor when kneeling to his new alpha but Peter’s yelling crashed the train of thought.

He’d somehow managed to evade the Cimmerians, skirting gradually around them, but was currently being chased down the road by the army of them. It sure was an odd sight. Stiles rubbed his hand over his face.

“Anyone want to explain that one to my dad? I’m sure someone will report it.”

Scott laughed, and the new betas stood, realising that the switching of alliances was passed. 

“You’ll have to explain that one.” Scott laughed again, gesturing to Stiles and Derek in general. “Last thing he knew, Derek was in the pack I’d promised him I’d rescue you from.”

Scott frowned, as if a thought had just occurred to him.

“I don’t think I handled that very well.”

Stiles held up a hand to stop him, as Scott looked sheepishly back up at him with those puppy dog brown eyes.

“Dude? Are you kidding? Who else would have delivered Cimmerians right to Peter’s front door?”

Scott beamed at the praise, practically glowing with happiness and relief. Stiles smiled back, glad his friend wasn’t feeling too hopeless. They’d had enough of that feeling over the past few crazy years to last a lifetime. 

“So who’s us driving home?” Lydia enquired, suddenly business like.

And Stiles understood why, he felt bone tired. Jackson glowered at Stiles, jerking his head towards his car, which was currently covered in a vat of cream after proving to be a rather unsuccessful getaway car for Peter.

“Not me, that’s for sure, isn’t it, Stilinski?”

To Jackson’s enragement, they all laughed.  
*  
It was Boyd who drove them all back home, with everybody squishing somewhat illegally into the same car, seatbelts be damned. Stiles sighed, finally relaxing, leaning back into Derek’s shoulder, tucked under his arm. Across the room, Scott was pulling a face. He leant his head out of the window, like he’d down with Stiles’s jeep that first time they’d realised that maybe he was turning into a werewolf. Stiles smiled fondly, his best friend was like a puppy to him.

“Ugh, I think I might be sick.” Scott’s comment caused Stiles to roll his eyes, forgetting all fond thoughts of companionship and puppy dog eyes.

“Such a drama queen.” Jackson scoffed, his syllables deft to their ears.

Lydia playfully smacked him on the arm. At his offended look, she shrugged, pressing her lips together.

“Like you can say much.” She scolded. 

Jackson actually let out a breath of a laugh, as the car sped past the ‘Welcome to Beacon Hills’ sign. 

*

Scott stepped out of the car to open the door for Allison, walking her to her door and the impressive house that never failed to remind him of that fearful first time he put a step over the threshold, holding his breath and expecting Chris Argent to appear running from the hallway, brandishing a long firearm at him. They stopped at the door, Allison didn’t tuck her hair behind her ear, although she used to, and Scott wondered about that. How that mannerism had faded to be replaced with the simplicity and strength that came with a deep rooted stillness that connoted power and control. That was what Allison was now. And it made him smile, he was still fond of both of those girls, because both of them were her.

“Thanks for, uh, helping us.”

“You mean saving you?” Her eyes teased, crinkling at the edged.

“Ugh, yeah.” Scott agreed sheepishly. 

He knew Isaac was in the car, with the ability to hear their conversation perfectly, expecting his alpha to be courteous and thank her for helping. Nothing more. He knew that. So, all he said was…

“See you at the next pack meeting?”

She nodded, smiling slightly.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

She watched him walk away, her feelings conflicted. That was how it was nowadays, too much past in-between them, left unsaid, but enough so that neither walked away completely. At least, not metaphorically. And Isaac was hers, and she was his. Another werewolf boyfriend. That was simple, wasn’t it? Maybe not. She shook her head, as if emptying her thoughts, before opening the door, walking back to familiarity and closing the door. 

*

By the time they reached Stiles’s house, only Stiles, Boyd, Scott and Derek remained in the car, the rest having been dropped off at their houses. Suffice to say, when the Sheriff opened the door, midway through pinning his badge onto his jacket, he was shocked to see Stiles and a sheepish Scott. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, he never did when crazy things like this kept happening, but he crossed the space between them with two large steps, clutching his son to him. He held the back of Stiles’s neck to his shoulder, hugging fiercely as he clapped him on the back, in a vague attempt to give his son some masculinity in front of his werewolf friend. When he pulled back, briefly looking Stiles over for injuries, he wore his stern face. He proceeded to turn this face to Scott.

“Thank you for bringing him to me. I trust this stupid pack war has stopped now? Otherwise, I might have a bastard to shoot.” Upon seeing Scott’s alarmed face, he quickly, assuredly added. “Meaning Peter.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry that it took longer to find him than I thought. There was the cologne, then we got lost in the fog, then those Greek warriors turned up-”

The Sheriff held up a hand for silence, grimacing at the train of supernatural, frankly odd, events.

“I don’t think I want to know. As long as you got him here, safe and sound. I knew you would.” He beamed.

His frown deepened, spotting something he’d missed upon first glance.

“Well, not quite.” He muttered, staring at Stiles’s heavily bandaged side.

Stiles looked down in alarm at the thick layer of white that showed through his shirt, covering his wound from where Peter had clawed his side. He remembered Derek fuming, his own misunderstanding at who that anger had been directed at and Cora calmly cleaning and bandaging his wound when her brother had stormed out of the room, diva/Jackson style.

“I, uh, it’s sorted. Just healing. A by-product of my need to escape back to sane people.” He dismissed, waving a hand.

“Hm. Or a by-product of a werewolf? Well, you won’t be seeing them around for a few days, don’t you worry.” The Sheriff clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder, smiling in what he thought was a reassuring way. 

All Stiles could think of was Derek. Maybe he should mention-? Or maybe he shouldn’t. Whilst he thought on his current predicament, his dad seemed to have the wrong end of the stick, labouring under a misimpression that Stiles was frowning because he wouldn’t be able to see his best friend. The Sheriff glanced back over his shoulder, at Scott, who was standing there as if in a daze, glancing every so often at the car, with a horror-struck expression. He was Derek’s alpha now, after all. How would he reason with him to not be angry? He seemed constantly angry!

“Except Scott, of course. And I gather Isaac helped? Just none of Peter’s henchmen.”

“Dad,” Stiles drew out the name. “It’s so not cool to call them henchmen. Betas. They are betas. Don’t you remember the chessboard?”

The Sheriff closed the door, smiling apologetically at Scott before doing so, and led the way into the lounge, running a hand down his own face.

“I can hardly forget the chessboard.”

Stiles sat and watched a football game with his dad for half an hour, eating takeout, which Stiles had scorned his dad for knowing the number off by heart to the Chinese for. He stretched his arms upwards, stood to his feet with a yawn. 

“I’m heading to bed.” He announced.

His dad nodded, smiling at him before returning his attention to the game on TV. As soon as Stiles, closed the door to his bedroom, Derek was suddenly there, swooping like a ninja through his bedroom window. He stalked towards Stiles, who rolled his eyes.

“Hey, it’s only a few days, buddy. No need to be all broody and glowering, tuck and rolling into my room like James bond or something-”

He was cut off abruptly by the feel of Derek’s lips pressing against his, hard, then the pressure was suddenly soft, like Derek’s anger towards the situation had dissipated on Stiles’s lips. Stiles instantly brought his hands to lightly touch Derek’s waist, his fingertips almost brushing his shirt. Stiles had found, from the little experience he had, that when kissing someone, they often referred to things that really didn’t make much sense, but seemed to make both their heads spin with happiness. Derek was no different.

“Or something.” He muttered against his lips.

It took Stiles a while to realise he was referring to what he’d said minutes before they’d started kissing.

“You know you really shouldn’t be in here.” Stiles muttered, as Derek moved his mouth from Stiles’s lips, kissing a path slowly across his jaw, down his neck.

Stiles lifted Derek’s chin, looking him straight in the eyes, at the same time saying ‘Derek’ sharply. Derek’s eyes searched his, concern lacing through them, asking the silent ‘what?’.

“Did you bring the handcuffs this time?”

Derek growled in response, practically lifting Stiles up, with Stiles hugging his legs tight around Derek’s knees, and falling onto the bed. He was propped up on his elbows, above Stiles, who grinned lazily at him before fluttering his eyelids closed. This was what he’d wanted. Peace. Derek. He thought back to the motel, when it had seemed strange just how not strange it had been to be cuddled in a bed with Derek Hale and-and-

Derek smiled fondly, almost shyly, despite the fact he didn’t often and Stiles couldn’t see him. He recognised the deeper breathing, the sound of a slower heartbeat, and knew Stiles had fallen asleep. All it had taken was one touch from the bed his back had so craved and Stiles was out, lost to a subconscious land where dreams floated and revolved around random parts of the day. Derek sighed, rolling over onto his back, face looking up at the ceiling, as he breathed quietly into the room, content to be next to Stiles.

Because like Stiles, he remembered the motel room, the covers, the horrible hard mattress, the rope tying them together. But none of that mattered. Because he also remembered something else.  
It had felt right to be together, lying next to each other, falling asleep to each other’s breaths. Derek counted Stiles slow heartbeats, matched his own to them, and fell asleep instantly, smiling as he felt peaceful for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and... THE END! :) xoxox


End file.
